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liAST I^IGHT OF POMPEII; 



^ POEJfi: 



LAYS AND LEGENDS. 



BY SUMNER LINCOLN FAIRFIELD. 



/ 

NEW-YORK : 
PRINTED BY ELMOTT ANP PALMER, 20 WILLIAM-STREET. 



MDCCCXXXII. 



' 1 ^ 



,f3 



Entered according to act of Congress, on the 6th day of October, 
1831, by Lucy Fairfield, in the Distri-t ri^rk'a Office for the Soutbere 
District of New-York. 



R E F A cIe 



The cities of Herculaneum, Pompeii, Retina, 
and Stabise, with many beautiful villages, were 
destroyed by an eruption of Mount Vesuvius, 
during the first year of the reign of Titus, on 
the 24th of August, seventy-nine. Buried du- 
ring more than seventeen hundred years, even 
their very names were almost forgotten, when 
the plough of a peasant struck upon the roof of 
the loftiest and most magnificent mansion in 
Pompeii ; and the excavations of the last fifty 
years have furnished the tourist, the antiquarian, 
the novelist, and the poet, with many a subject 
of picturesque and glowing description. The 
cities of the dead have not wanted frequent and 
often faithful historians ; every disinterred tem- 
ple, theatre, statue, pillar, tomb, and painting, has 
h;und admirers. It was expedient, therefore,to 
throw action into a picture at all times iiap'res- 



P K E F A C i:. 



sive, and to delineate without flattery those ex- 
isting manners, customs, and morals, which, 
sanctioned as they were, not only by usage, but 
by legislators and the priesthood, can leave little 
regret and less astonishment at the terrible over- 
throw of cities as excessive and not so venial in 
their crimes as Gomorrah. 

The founders of Rome, like the Pelasgi of 
Greece, were outlawed fugitives from almost 
every nation — the very seminoles of the world. 
Their earliest laws, discipline, science, and 
literature, were all created by habitual war. 
Political ascendancy, acquired by remorseless 
military skill, was with each the highest good ; 
and hence, though less capricious and somewhat 
more grateful than the Athenians, there never 
was a period in Rome, when the people, after 
long suffering, exacted their rights without incur- 
ring the vengeance of the patricians. The aris- 
tocracy held the supreme power ; in their esteem 
the commonalty were vassals of the soil. To 
resist these arrogated'privileges, the tribunes in- 
stigated factions, and the venerable Forum be- 
came the arena of revolt, conspiracy, and blood. 
The very senators ascended the rostrum spotted 
with gore. Liberty was defined by philosophers, 
developed by rhetorical declaimers and adored 
in the fictions of poesy, but it was never enjoyed . 



P H E F A C E . 



There were grandeur, vast dominions, empires 
in bondage, triumphal processions, unrivalled 
wealth, magnificent prodigality and profligacy, 
but no just freedom. Roman citizenship was 
national pride, not individual prerogative. The 
ignorant cannot govern though they may tyran- 
nize ; and ancient sages and priests were too 
wise to instruct the multitude, though they valued 
uninitiated sectaries; for communicated know- 
ledge would supersede the lucrative occupations 
and mysterious powers of their successors. 

Caesar rose upon the ruins of the consulship 
as that had risen upon the decemvirate. Au- 
thority now became personal, concentrated and 
unappealable, but otherwise there was little 
change. The senate had long been the mere 
market of ambition ; the people were mercena- 
ries or serfs ; the consuls were colluders of some 
faction, perpetually renewed, or its obedient 
slaves ; and the victorious commander of the 
legions, long the arbiter of the Roman destinies, 
on the field of Pharsalia, merely decorated im- 
perial power with a diadem. 

Titus was the tenth emperor, and doubtless 
a just man ; but the epithets of exaggerated 
praise bestowed upon him, sufficiently indicate 
the character of, at least, seven of his predeces- 
sors ; and his own brief reign, which was termi- 



P R K P AC E 



nated by the poison of liis inhuman brother Do- 
mitian, demonstrates the morals, humanity, and 
courage of the age. Therefore, in the picture I 
have attempted to draw, 1 have not been intimi- 
dated by the victories, arts, literature or mytholo- 
gy of the Romaifis, but have desired to paint with 
fidelity the universal licentiousness, which, hav- 
ing infected every heart, left the battlements of 
the Eternal City ready to fall before the barbarian 
avenger. 

Every province of the vast empire rivalled the 
imperial capital ; and almost every proconsul 
imitated — sometimes even exceeded— the des- 
potism and debaucheries of Caligula and Helio- 
gabalus. The union of civil and military power, 
while it concentrated the energies of government, 
conferred upon the provincial commander an 
irresponsible authority, against which it was folly 
to remonstrate, and madness to rebel. The fa- 
thers of Rome were too corrupt to investigate 
the sources of their revenue or the characters of 
its gatherers; and too indolent in patrician pro- 
fligacy to execute any edicts except such as 
suited their own haughty yet grovelling passions. 
The fountain being thus contaminated, its thou- 
sand streams distributed corruption over the 
whole empire; and all, who drank its waters, 
partook the character of them who watched be- 



r a E F A c E. 



side the wellspring. Few of those who wore 
the Roman crown, died by the ordinance of na- 
ture ; the Praetorians, like the niodfirn Janizaries 
and Strelitzes, obeyed the decisionwS of their tur- 
bulent prefects ; and what a Sejanus failed to ac- 
complish for himself, a more politic Macro ef- 
fected for another, through whom he ruled every 
thing but that imperial folly which ended in as- 
sassination. Yet sanguinary as was the ascent, 
unhappy the possession and quick the downfall 
of power, the governors of the provinces were 
less implicated in the royal revolutions than al- 
most any men in Rome. While the Quaestor of 
the Palatine discovered no defalcation of the 
revenue, and no rumor of sedition reached the 
senate, the proconsul remained in his lucrative 
government during pleasure ; and none of all 
the Conscript Fathers deemed it expedient to 
examine the condition of the country over which 
he swayed his iron rod. 



THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEH. 



CANTO I. 



Mid mellow folds of softly floating gold, 

The flowered pavilions of the spirit winds. 

That waved in music to the Ausonian breeze, 

And blent, like heart-smiles, with the deep blue vault 

Of beautiful Campania, like a God, 

(Titan in ancient dreams, whose faintest smile 

Elysian splendors breathed through ocean's realm,) 

Casting aside earth's throbbing dust, to put 

His diadem of deathless glory on. 

The sun went slowly down the Appenines. 

Far up the living dome of heaven, the clouds, 

Pearling the azure, like a seraph's robe, 

Wreathed o'er the blessed and beaming face of heaven, 

And glanced, mid blush and shadow, o'er tlae sky, 

Full of the gentle spirit of the air, 



10 THE LAST NIGHT [CANTO I. 

The mediator of the elements. 
As if imbued with virgin thought, the leaves 
Tenderly smiled their loveliness, and sighed, 
O'er the hushed summer earth, their music, soft 
As the sky-hymns o'er wandering souls forgiven. 
The hills cast giant shadows, in whose depth 
Wild jagged rocks, and solitary floods, 
And forests gnarled and hoar, looking deep awe. 
Like the vast deserts of a dream, replied 
To voices of unresting phantoms, there ' 
Till day-dreams, wrapt in dark sublimities. 
On the fair shores and sea-worn promontories, 
Where many a Doric palace, proudly built, 
And overwhelmed by grandeur, silent stood. 
Save when the twilight waters whispered low 
Their vigil anthem, childlike slumbered now, 
In speechless beauty, the last light ; afar, 
The avalanche in the ravine glimmered back 
The trembling and most transitory glow ; 
The beaked and burnished galleys on the wave 
With quivering banners hung, and gay triremes 
Passed by each isle and headland like the shade 
Of Enna's idol through the realm of Dis. 
All nature, in her holy hour of love, 
Lifted in rapture the heart's vesper prayer. 



CANTO I.] OFPOMPEII. 11 

And thus from Pompeii's Field of Tombs the voice 
Of Vesta's priestess, o'er the sepulchres 
Bending beneath the holy Heaven, sent up 
The anguish of bereavement, and the doubts 
Of an immortal mind that knew^ not yet 
Its immortality, yet seeking e'er 
A deathless hope and sighing o'er the pomp 
Profane of paynim adoration vain. 

THE VESTAL'S HYMN. 

Zephyr of tw^ilight ! thine elysian breath 

In spirit music steals through orange groves : 

Bringst thou no memories from the home of death ? 
No M^hispered yearnings from departed loves ? 

Fann'd not thy wing, ere stars above thee glowed, 
The pure pale brow that on my birth-hour smiled ? 

And bearst thou not from Destiny's abode 
One kiss from mother to her vestal child ? 

Cold sleep the ashes of the heart that breathed 
But for my bliss — ^when being's suns were few ; 

And hath the spirit no high hope bequeathed ? 
Or must it drink the grave's eternal dew ? 



12 THELAST NIGHT [cANTO I. 

Hesper ! the beauty of thy virgin light 

Blossoms along the blue of yon sweet sky — 

Yet vain my heart soars — from the deep of night 
No voice or vision tin ills my car or eye. 

From Vesta's vigil shrine no light ascends 

Beyond this realm of sin, doubt, grief, and death ; 

Reveals no heaven where meet immortal friends, 
Shadows no being victor over breath ! 

Sunlight and fragrance, dewbeam and still eve 
Shed not tiieir bliss and beauty on thine urn ! 

Has earth no hope time never can bereave ? 
No power again to bid the pale dust burn? 

The rippling rills, the radiant morns, the flowers. 
Bursting in beauty, showers of iris hues, 

Starlight and love — the graces and the hours — 
Each — all must vanish like the dial dews ! 

Budding to wither — lingering to impart 

Life's hopeless pangs w^hen thought shall sink in gloom- 
Can song or mythos soothe the shuddering heart ? 

Or e'en tho Thunderer's eye illume the tomb 1 



CANTO 1.] or POMPEII. 13 

Now from the mountain tent mid ilex woods 
Or gay pavilions in the clysian vale, 
Wandered, on twilight air, through clustering vines, 
The cithern's music and the lute's soft strain 
Echoed the soul of love-filled melody. 
The hills seemed living with delight, for there 
As Summer's burning solstice felt the breath 
Of Autumn floating o'er its fires, retired. 
From cities thronged with death,' the wise and gay, 
In fellowship or loneliness, to seek 
Felicity or wisdom from the woods ; 
And there the dreams of Arcady — the thought, 
That, in the elder days, inspired the soul 
Of Phantasie and breathed through Nature's smiles 
Elysian revelations, clothing earth 
In mornstar robes of loveliness, became 
The blest companions of the pure in heart. 

The rose and purple radiance from the sky 
Fled like Love's visions or the arrow's plume, 
O'er the dim isles and sea of Italy, 
Mid the dark foliage mingling like the hopes 
Of earth with night-fears, when the shadows, cast 
From thought, with high and pure revealments blend 
Of beautiful existence far beyond 
The mockery and the madness of this life. 



14 THELASTNIOHT [cANTO I. 

In shadowy grandeur lay the glorious sea, ™ 

Whose waters wafted spoils from orient realms, 

And mirrored Nature's beauty, while dread war 

Bathed Punic banners in the gore of Rome. 

The evening isles of love and loveliness 

Slept in the soothing solitude, wherein 

The awful intellect of Rome sought peace 

In grey philosophy while faction poured 

Its hydra venom, or conspiracy 

Walked the thronged Forum, dooming, at a glance, 

The loftiest to extinction ; here the bard 

Unfolded earth's and heaven's mysteries. 

Creating the world's creed and Fiction's brow 

Wreathing with the immortal buds of truth. 

Among the sanctities of groves and streams, 

The worn and wearied bosom breathed again 

Its birthlight bliss, and wisdom, born of woe. 

Uttered its oracles to coming years ; 

And in the midst of all that thrills and charms, 

Weds beauty unto grandeur, earth to heaven. 

Here tyrant crime achieved, by nameless deeds, 

The world's redemption from remorseless guilt. 

Bland airs flew o'er the faded heavens, and streams, 
That in the noonday dazzled, and e'en now 
Drank the rich hues of eventide, purled on 



CANTO I.] O F P O M P E I I. 15 

With lovelier music, and the green still shores 
Looked up to the blue mountains with the face — 
The cherub face of sinless infancy — 
With hope and joy perpetual in that look ; 
For, mid all changes, still the faded bloom 
Shall be renewed — the slumbering heart revived. 
And then the crescent streamed o'er air-winged clouds 
With an ethereal lustre, and the stars, 
The dread sabaoth of the unbounded air. 
From the profound between each downy fold. 
Gleamed like the eyes of seraphs, from the realms 
Of immortality beholding earth. 

Beneath the dying glories of the day. 
And the unspeakable beauty of the night, 
Yet in the haunt of peril — the dim home 
Of dread and danger — looking o'er the domes 
Of destined Pompeii — stood two shadowy Forms, 
Pale, yet unfaltering — famished, yet in soul. 
Fed from the altar of their risen God. 
One — a tried warrior by his eye and brow 
And dauntless port, leaned on the shattered ledge 
Of a Vesuvian cavern, o'er which trailed 
The matted and dark vines, and thickly hung 
The cypress and dwarfed cedar, fleckering o'er 



16 TIIELASTNIOUT [cANTO I. 

The twilight of the vestibule with gloom, 

And shutting from the inner vault, where slept 

The banned and hunted Nazarenes, all beams 

Of sunset, mornlight, and meridian, save 

Light from the living fount of Deity. 

Beside him, folding in Love's holiness 

His wasted bosom, on his troubled brow, 

Pouring the radiance of her dark eyes, stood 

A Hebrew captive, dragged amid the spoils 

And splendors of Moriah, when the hour 

Of Desolation fell on Zion's towers. 

To swell the victor's wild array and add 

Another cup of vengeance and despair 

To- imperial, merciless, world-wasting Rome. 

There Mariamne clung to Pansa's breast. 

The melancholy loveliness of Love, 

That dares the voiceless desert and inspires 

The forest solitude, around her hung 

Like star-gemmed clouds around an angel's form ; 

On her pale brow the very soul of faith 

Rested as by its shrine ; and earth's vain pride 

And triumph from the vaulted refuge fled 

Where Hope breathed Love's own immortality. 

Like her, the sun-clothed vision, in whose crown 

Gleamed the twelve orbs of glory as she stood 



CANTO I.] OP POMPEII. 17 

Amid the floating moon's young shadowy light. 
When the red sceptered Dragon cast from heaven 
The blossomed beams of the universe, and watched 
His spoil in breathless rapture ; so, mid grief 
And want and loneliness and danger stood 
The daughter of the east, in every woe 
Fearless, in every peril quick in thought 
And action, whether dread calamity 
Waited the wanderings of her wedded love, 
Or through the clouds of fear upon her came. 
Thoughts, winnowed from the gross and grovelling dust 
Of earth, and glistering with the hues of heaven, 
Passed o'er their mingled spirits in the depth 
Of the hoar Appenines ; (') and thus the heart 
Of the changed Roman spake, whose home had been 
The tented battlefield, whose joy, the spoil 
Of nations gasping 'neath the banner folds 
Of conquest, ere amid the flames and shrieks 
Of Solyma, he heard the Voice that fills 
Infinity, with immeasurable awe. 
And worshipped mid the scorn of pagan bands. 
Relentless as the edict he obeyed, 
His dauntless soul, in other years, had roamed 
Through carnage, and, in triumph, mocked the moans 
Of fallen moiiality, as his fellows did, 

3 



18 THELASTNIGHT [CANTO I. 

The legions of tl e loveless ; but the faith, 

Whose founder wept o'er doomed and ruthless foes. 

Sunk on his bosom as the sunset sinks 

Upon the wild and savage mountain peak, 

Clothing its barrenness with beauty ! — Thus 

His saddened but serene mind communed now. 

'* Oh, the still, sacred, soothing light that bathes 

The blue, world-studded heavens — while the breath 

Of Autumn gushes music, and inspires 

The purified and thrilled spirit with the power 

To cast aside the thrall of flesh and soar 

To converse with the seraphim and prayer 

And sacrifice beneath the throne of God ! 

The madness and the misery, that rend 

The heart no skill can renovate, come not 

Within the bosom's temple that imbibes 

The oracles of Truth in every breeze. 

Thou needest not thy tcphilim (=) to lift 

Thy thoughts within the veil, nor seek I mora 

The prestiges of augurs to impart 

The destined future, nor vain amulets 

To guard Avhat He, who gave, can well preserve. 

Look, Mariamne ! on the dimpled sea, 

That slumbers like the jasper waters seen 

In the apocalypse of Patmos, hang 

The crowding sails of merchant barks delayed, 



CANTO I.] OF POMPEII. 19 

The altars at their prows casting pale gleams, 
While by the dagon deities of earth, 
The terrible apotheoses, wrought 
From desolating passions, vainly now 
The mariners invoke the gale to bear 
Their treasures to the imperial mart — and lo ! 
The living leaves stir not the gem dew, wept 
By twilight o'er the forest, in reply." 

Rapt by the charm and majesty — the bloom 
And dreamy verdure of the world and skies — 
Yet looking far beyond them, thus replied 
The High Priest's banished child unto the thought 
Of the baptized and scorned Decurion. 
" Methinks, my Pansa ! — as we gaze around — 
The shadows of the hoar and giant woods, 
The sea's unearthly and hushed gleam, the eyes 
Of the unlimited and soul-peopled heaven, 
Thus calm and awful, and the silence, throned 
Amid the universe, sink on my soul 
With an unwonted dread, and throng my brain 
Like breathless ministers of doom. Among 
The woven cedar-boughs and oak canopies, 
The pale green moss, thick shrubs and mo-zy vines 
Of these dark rocks, a spirit seems to fill 



^0 T H E I- A S T M G n T [CANTO I. 

The air with 4;-evelations none can hear, 

Save they who, fearing God, fear not vain man. 

Like the mysterious and unvoiced Name, 

Upon the white gem w^ritten, wiiich none beheld 

But the anointed, fearful characters 

Seem to my startled vision forming now 

Among yon dense and thought-wmged thunder-clouds^ 

Whose dusky peaks ascend above the hills ; 

And, see ! with what a brow of majesty 

Vesuvius, through the bland transparent air. 

And vivid moonlight, o'er our vigil bends ! 

Dwells there not terror in earth's breathlessness T 

And peril in the slumber of the mount ?" 

Sadly the Roman turned his gaze below 
Upon the fated city, gleaming now 
With countless lights o'er pageantries and feasts. 
That flared in mockery of the hallowed heaven. 
Then answered mournfully his dreading bride. 
♦' The happy deem not so — discern not ought 
Beyond their splendor, fame and luxury ; 
For, knowing not the evil, which, as clouds 
Impart a lovelier glory to the skies, 
(Else dim with sultriness) invests all good 
With loftier attributes ; ti\ey cannot fear 



CAMTO I.] OPPOMPEII. ^1 

The forfeiture of wealth, or any change 

To adverse fortune ; mark the gorgeous pomp, 

The maskings, orgies, agonaha now 

In mirth and madness echoing o'er our watch 

From Pompeii's lava streets ; her sculptured domes 

Flash back the torchlights of the riot throng, 

And countless chariots, rivalling their God 

Of Morn, are hurled along the trembling side 

Of this most awful mount, as if the fire 

Had never wreathed to heaven and poured the heart 

Of earth in blood-red torrents ! By yon gate. 

Towers the proud temple of the idol first 

Made and adored by earth's first Rebel — him 

Called Nimrod, and exalted to a God 

By the debased and impious sons of Ham. — 

There Parian columns and Mosaic floors 

And golden shrines and lavers, and proud forms 

Wrought by Praxiteles with godlike skill, 

And pictures glowing with unshadowed charms 

To tempt, or mythologic pomp to awe 

The enthusiast and the sceptic, can attest 

Idolatry's magnificence. Within, 

The secret stair — the victim, whose wild shrieks; 

Are oracles — the flamen at his wine 

Or darker deeds of sacrilege, while throngs 



22 THELASTNIGHT [CANTO I. 

Of blind adorers, manacled without 

By fear's inflictod madness, bend in awe 

And pile first fruits and gold around her shrine — 

These arc the illusions and the destinies 

Of Isis and her earthborn vassals, love ! 

Think they of aspects men believe they rule ? 

Think they of perils in their revelry ? 

Know they the God whose least respected works 

They mock, as deities, by all excess 

Loathsome and nameless to the human ear V 

" The destined hour of justice and despair, 
When they shall gather wisdom, flings its shade 
Upon the dial of the conqueror's doom." 
Thought hurried fast through Mariamne's soul. 
" Said not the Christ from the bright Olive Mount, 
Looking in sorrow on the temple clothed 
With peerless glory, that the Holy Place 
Should be defiled — the city trampled — all 
Its princely dwellers captive, slain, or strewn 
Like sear leaves o'er the unreceiving world, 
Or scorned for uttering creeds the torture taught ? 
And not one stone upon another left 
To mark where once the sanctuary stood ? 
Alas ! she sleeps in desolation's arms, 



CANTO I.] OF POMPEII. 23 

The city of my childhood, and not one 

Of all the pleasant haunts, the palmgrove plain 

Of Sharon and Siloam's holy fount, 

And Lebanon's pavilioned wood — which thought, 

At morn or even twilight, sanctified. 

Looks from the ruins of my home ! but thou, 

My Pansa ! art my home and temple now, 

And the Atoner, whom my people slew. 

The God of this wrecked heart — wrecked when it felt 

Its father slain, its race to bondage, sold 

Beneath the patriarch's Terebinth ! alas ! 

That bigot faction — pride unquenched by woe — 

And thanklessness and treachery and wrath. 

Perpetuated by all punishment, 

And, more than either, the one awful crime 

That ne'er shall be forgiven, till the faith — 

They mocked and shall mock, ages hence, the same 

Without a country, law, chief, priest and home 

They were, in glory, with them all — shall fill 

Their dark and desolated minds with light — 

That these led on the Roman to the spoil 

And allied with his bands to our despair ! 

— But I do grieve thee, love ! by selfish plaint, 

And shut my soul to kno^vledge of the rites 

And ministraticr.s of Xhv monarch race. 



24 THELAST NIGHT [cANTO I. 

Power and impunity with them, as all, 

Forestall, I dread, their death-doom ; yet again 

As we behold Campania's loveliest realm 

Unfolded far beneath us, let me learn 

The polity and faith of Italy. 

Yon vast pile, in the centre, looking o'er 

The Appian with a mild magnificence" — ? 

" *Twas once, ere Freedom perished, and the car 
Of conquest bore the tyrant to his throne, 
The thronged and venerated home of Right, 
Liberty's temple, where the tribune's voice 
Forbade the consul's edict, and none dared, 
Without their will, to decimate for war, 
Or spoil, in peace, the conscious citizen. 
Now, beautified by Pai'ian colonnades. 
And jetting fountains and immortal busts 
Of Rome's immortal mind, when power, conferred 
In peril, was resigned in safety's arms. 
Mid the Mosaic corridors and halls, 
And priceless trophies of the matchless thought 
Of Zeuxis and Apelles, and the forms 
Of Phidias, warrior statues, giant steeds. 
And consuls stern in look, austere in life. 
Dispensing bondage iroiu the Capitol, 



CANTO I.] O F P O M P E 1 1. 25 

Or tributary diadems to earth — 
Now o'er this pomp of intellect and might 
The serpent spirit of a helot race, 
Licking the dust of purple tyranny, 
And crushing in its poison folds all thought 
That dares be fetterless, and dreads but guilt — 
Leaving the slime of ruin, with the hiss 
Of shame and desolation, ever glides. 
Mark the long pillared ranges to the east — 
(A sceptered figure overtops the dome, 
Her brazen scales are superfluities — ) 
In the Ausonian days ere heaven revoked 
Its holiest gift to man ; ere granite gods, 
Sphynxes, cabiri, (^) apes and crocodiles 
Became corrupted nature's deities, 
There reigned Astraea, bright Aurora's child, 
The Titan's seraph — gentle e'en to crime, 
Radiant in beauty to the Good ; the clouds 
Of passion never darkened her sweet brow. 
Revenge and hate and venal compact ne'er 
Confronted her calm look of sanctity. 
Then the Basilicse were temples meet 
For prayer and hymn to the Divinity, 
And majesty and wisdom, peace and love 
Dwelt with a sad yet just humanity. 

4 



26 THELASTNIOHT [CANTO I. 

Alas, for the brief vision ! and alas 

For the world's madness ! giant evil rushed 

Through wrecked hearts and crushed spirits and o'erspread 

All realms with unmasked vice, impurities 

Unnameable, atrocities beyond 

The untaught conception of the savage, till. 

Casting earth's soil and burden from her wings. 

The goddess rose to the elysian throne 

She left to meet derision and despair. 

Then grovelling men, amid abasements, groped 

Through sacrilege and malady and vice. 

The agonies of guilt without its shame, 

Remorselessness and misery, to their home — 

The sepulchre of painted infamies ! 

Thus felt, though feigning, pagan Rome's best minds : 

And since the fated hour when faction raised 

The tyrant's beacon banner and the blood 

Of Ca3sar stained his rival's pillar, none 

Have stayed the deluge of unpunished wrong. 

The Ambracian waters (*) were not deeper dyed 

Than judgment in yon courts ; there 's not a stone. 

That bears not witness, to the soul, of woe. 

Injustice, calumny and death ; wrung tears 

Have stained the Praetor's seat of perfidy ; 

And sighs unsolaced through the long arcades 

Echoed like voices of accusing ghosts ; 



CANTO I.] t) F P O M P E I I. 27 

And hopeless shrieks ascended from the cells 

Beneath the proud tribunal, where the will 

Of one, that cannot be arraigned, dooms all 

To endless anguish or unwitnessed death. 

Alas, my Mariamne ! while I gaze 

On those most dreaded mansions, burning fears 

Thrill my awed bosom, lest this mountain vault, 

Dismal and dripping — the dark home of want — 

And guiding to the abyss of flame or flood, 

Perchance — may fail to shield us from the grasp 

Of Diomede's apparitors ! {^) forefend, 

O Heaven ! the hour of our betrayal ! once 

My stricken and stunned soul beheld the death — 

Let us within, my love ! my heart misgives 

Even at the imagination of the power, 

Ferocity and wantonness of him, 

Whose sire — (and ne'er had father truer son) 

Sejanus taught, Tiberius trusted in, 

Caligula exalted ; Nero loved 

This subtle, quick Sicilian, and all since 

Upon the imperial throne have left in place 

Pompeii's Praetor — for his heart feels not ! 

Honored by these, what have not we to fear ? 

His minion's glance is ruin unto both ! 

My life, his prey, thy beauty — stand not so, 



28 THELASTNIGHT [cANTO 1. 

Beyond the shadow of the precipice ! 

His seekers are abroad — the assassin games 

Of yon vast amphitheatre will feast, 

Ere long, the merciless idolaters ! 

Enter the cavern, Mariamne i hark ! 

Some lichens fell from the steep rocks o'erhead — 

A sandal hath dislodged them — yet no eye 

Of mortal may discern us from the crag 

That beetles there — again ! I hear the fall 

Of guarded steps — so, softly, love ! within !" 

Darkness along the rugged crypt — (wherein 
The pard had sorted with the serpent, ere 
The Roman Convert made his home there, sought 
By the fierce demon of the idol faith) — 
Floated in wreaths, and round the jutting rocks, 
Whence trickled the hill fountains, drop by drop, 
Mocking the pulses of each lingering hour, 
Hung in its home of centuries ; but now 
Gloom e'en more terrible from thunder clouds 
Rushed on the tempest's wings o'er every star 
Of bright blue ether and the laughing earth, 
(Breathed o'er by Zephyr from his vesper throne. 
Late, when the oreads danced upon the mount,) 
And winds in moaning gusts, like spirits doomed, 



CANTO I.] O F P O M P E 1 1. 29 

Swept through the cavern ; and the giant trees 

Through their vast canopies their voices cast 

Upon the vv^liirlwind ; and the Appenines 

Loomed through the ghastly midnight, shadow^ing forms 

Like earth-gods in the revel of their wrath, 

Limitless and robed in vengeance hoarded up 

Through ages of quick agony ; and, whirled 

In fury o'er the crags, huge boughs and leaves 

And dust, leaving the gnarled grotesque roots bare, 

Quivered along the sky ; and lightning leapt 

O'er cloven yet contending woods, from mass 

To mass of all the surging sea of clouds, 

That rioted amid the firmament. 

Flashing like edicts from the infinite Mind 

Of Godhead ; and from sea, shore, clifl^ and vale 

A deep wild groan in shuddering echoes passed 

Through the earth's heart, and met the crash and howl 

Of momentary thunders in mid air. 

In silence from the moss couch of their cell, 
Mid the deep arches of the grolto, prayer 
Ascended from the pale lips but tried hearts 
Of earth's unfriended exiles — heaven's redeemed ; 
And there, as o'er their voiceless orisons 
The wild tornado's music rushed, the Faith 



30 THELASTNIOHT [cANTO I, 

Sublime, which through all torture and all dread 
The Christian martyr in heaven's triumph bore, 
Pervaded every thought that soared beyond 
The doubt and fear and anguish of their fate. 
The first vast masses of dark vapor poured 
Their deluge, and the torrents from ravines 
And precipices hurried, in wild foam. 
To channels bright with verdure and dry beds 
Of mountain lakes, flinging their turbid floods 
Down the deep boiling chasm and with the sea, 
Now hurling its tumultuous waves along 
The echoing shores and up the promontories, 
Conflicting for the masterdom. Each glen, 
Tangled with thorns and shrubs, and each defile, 
O'erhung with jagged clifl^s, to the dread hymn 
Of the night storm, shouted their oracles ; 
And from the summit of Vesuvius curled 
A pyramid of dusky vapor, tinged 
With a strange, smothered and unearthly light. 
Portents and prophecies more awful fell 
On every vigilant and awed sense than e'er, 
From Pythia shrieking on the tripod, sent 
Terror and madness to the undoubting heart. 
But, while the hollow dirge of the strong blast 
Startled the dreaming world, the unrufiled minds 



CANTO I.] O P P O M P E 1 1» 81 

Of the disciples with the Paraclete 

Communed, and gathered from the cross new power 

O'er famine, danger, loneliness and death, 

" Thou fear'st not now, my Pansa ! though the Mount 
Unquenchable beneath us quakes ; thy dread 
Of human wrath — consorts it with thy trust 
In God ? thine eye shrinks not when all the heavens 
Blaze, and thine ear shuts not when thunders burst, 
Shocking the immensity ; why fear'st thou man ?" 

" I know him ; knowledge brings to all or hate 
Or scorn or apprehension, as his deeds 
Or our own nature waken : He, who died 
For crime not his, hath taught my else fierce heart 
Humility ; derision and revenge 
Assail me not, and, therefore, fear invades 
My too acquainted spirit when the shade 
Of Diomede along my lone thoughts stalks. 
But from his revelations I do know 
The Maker, and his loftiest name is Love, 
And that consists not with the sceptic's dread. 
Man, gifted with a might above all law, 
With every passion by impunity 
And rivalry of imperial guilt inflamed, 



32 TIIELASTNIGHT [cANTO I. 

(And such is this proconsul) must become 
A dreaded despot, and the helpless heart, 
That weds a persecuted faith and loves 
A banished mortal, who on earth to him 
Is as elysium, must from peril quail, 
And shudder e'en at shadows menacing." 

" Yet paynim hate but hurls our thoughts to heaven," 
(Said Mariamne, e'en in woe like hers, 
Thinking the thoughts which Miriam from the shores 
Of Egypt's sea breathed o'er the tyrant host,) 
" Their fountain first and final home, as feigned 
Thy poet, of the Titans, thrown to earth 
By might supernal, yet unconquering : 
They from the bosom of their mother sprung 
With renovated strength and added wrath 
And hourly towering majesty of mien. 
Man may destroy, but cannot desecrate ; 
May mock, but never can make vain our faith ; 
And if our hopes, like Christ's own kingdom, are 
Not of this world, why should we linger on 
In this unworthy fear, and shun the crown 
Laid up for martyred witnesses of truth ? 
Let the worst come in the worst agonies ! 
We shall not part, my love ! but for an hour ; 



CANTO I.] O P P O M P E I I. 33 

Nor shall we leave — the spoil of heathen scorn — 
Bright sons and gentle daughters to endure 
Inherited affliction, homeless need, 
Perpetuated vengeance ; round our hearts. 
In the dread trial hour of tortured flesh, 
The parent's matchless and undying love, 
With all its blest endearments, and the charms 
Of budding childhood's rainbow pleasantries, 
Gushings of the soul's springtime, falling o'er 
Maturer yeafs, like sunbright dews of heaven, 
Will never cling and chain our daunted minds 
To earth's vain interests. We shall depart 
Like sunbows from the cataract, renewed 
By luminaries that have no twilight — where 
Winter and hoar age, doubt, care, strife and fear, 
The desert and the samiel, the realm 
Of flowers and pestilence, the purple pomp 
And tattered want of human life are not. 
What say the Greek and Latin sages, love ? 
What Judah's peerless monarch, (") mid the wealth, 
The radiance and the perfumes and the power. 
The majesty of thrones and diadems, 
And the excess of mortal pleasure, said 
In his immortal wisdom (how 't was soiled 
By passion, in his age, for idol charms, 

5 



34 THELASTNIGHT [cANTO I. 

Heaven knows and sorrows o'er humanity,) 
Ambition, pride, pomp, pleasure — all 
Are but the vanities that tempt man on 
To shame, satiety and death — or worse, 
Reckless dishonor and shunned solitude, 
Living with dire remembrances of joy." 

" The God, my Mariamne ! that for guilt. 
Incurred in other states or other worlds. 
Ere the great cycles brought our being here, 
(As some have deemed, if erring or inspired 
1 know not) clothed our spirits in this robe 
Of frail flesh, subject to necessities 
From birth to burial, ne'er debased the mind 
Unto the body's weakness, yet left not 
Thought, at all seasons, master of our clay. 
Wander not oft the wisest ? sink not oft 
The strong ^ and blench the fearless ? and delay 
To reason with blasphemers the most skilled? 
And tamper with temptation, the most pure ? 
In the imparted strength of heaven I trust, 
When the last trial of my faith shall come, 
That the disciple will not prove apostate. 
But having thee, my bride ! e'en from the mouth 
Of this wild Cacus vault, that looks beneath 



CANTO I.] O F P O M P E I I. 35 

Into the chaos of the mountain gorge, 

The air, the forest, the blue ghmmering waves, 

The meadows with their melodies, the cUtTs 

Curtained by countless waving vines, or dark 

With desolate magnificence, o'erwhelm 

My soul with grandeur, love and beauty, till, 

Uttering to thee the bliss which nature breathes, 

And thrilled by her seraphic eloquence, 

I mingle with the tenderness and bloom, 

The music, majesty, and loveliness 

Of her unfolded scenes, and shrink to meet 

The power that rends away these charms — this love 

So sternly proved through each uncertain hour 

Since from the sanctuary wreathed with flame 

I snatched thee, as the Judge of that wild night 

Did from the dark faith of the Pharisee. 

Life pure amid corruption, will to bear 

Protracted evil, gratitude for all 

The gifts of God, and prayer and praise in grief. 

May prove a sacrifice to heaven not less 

Than all the tortures of the martyrdom. 

The tempest passes, and the night wears on ; 

The dome of heaven is filled with prophecies ! 

With voices low, but heard where breathless thoughts 

Are oft the most accepted music, let 

Our evening hymn ascend, and then to rest." 



36 T H E L A S T N I G H T [cANTO I. 



THE MIDNIGHT PRAYER. 

From the wild cavern's still profound, 

Fiom cliffs that bend o'er viewless flanne, 
Our spirits soar beyond the bound 

Of being to thy hallowed name. 
In gloom and peril, God ! thou art 

Our hope amid the lion's lair. 
And from the desolated heart, 

Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ! 

The lustres of our lives are few. 

On darkened earth, our bliss still less, 
Yet daybeam fragrance, evelight dew 

Hear our heart-hymns in lone distress : 
By no green banks, as prayed our sires, 

Our thoughts win heaven to Time's despair, 
But we are heard by seraph choirs — 

Hear thou, O Christ ! our midnight prayer ! 

No magian charms or mystic dreams, 

Or Delian voices, uttering doubt. 
By fountains dim and shadowy streams. 

The fear, the awe of doom breathe out ; 



CANTO I.] O F P O M P E 1 1. 37 

By shrines, red bolts have sanctified, 

While dragons haunted meteor air, 
We worship not as shadows glide — 

Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ! 

The breathing earth, the gleaming heaven, 

The song of sea, mount, vale, and stream, 
While dimness waves o'er holy even, 

Blend our glad souls with beauty's beam ; 
But darkness, danger, torrents raise 

Our hope to Thee, Death-victor ! where 
In virgin light fly tearless days — 

Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ! 

The bard bereaved from Orcus' gloom, 

Through Hades, led his love to light. 
And thine adorers from thy ton:j3 

Drink glory in their being's night ; 
More blest to need, as thou didst. Lord ! 

Than be the Phrygian monarch's heir, 
Wanting the rapture of thy word — 

Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ! 

Judea's incense-hills are dim 

And silent, where the song went up ; 
Hushed holy harp and temple hymn — 

The slayer drinks the spoiler's cup ! 



38 TUE LAST NIOHT [cANTO I. 

Earth o'er the sophist's vision sighs, 

O'er deeds, king, priest, and people dare, 

And wilt thou not from pitying skies. 
Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ! 

Loosed from dark homage unto Fear, 

Imaged in lar and teraphim. 
And Delphian voice and Ebal seer. 

Thy bright revealments round us swim, 
Pouring upon the path we tread. 

Though periU'd, lone, and rough and bare, 
Light that inspires the martyred dead ! 

Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ! 

In sleep and vigil, guard and guide. 

In secret quest of earthly food, 
From outward foes and inward pride. 

And the fiend's wiles in solitude ! 
O'er idol rites Thy radiance pour. 

Till, like the myriad worlds of air, 
The Universe, as one, adore ! 

Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ! 

" What terrible and ghastly blaze flares through 
The cavern, filling its abyss with flame ?" 
Said Pansa, startling from the grotto's gloom. 
As the last gentle breathings of the song 



CANTO I.] OP POMPEII. ^^ 

Whispered along the arches, and with step 
Like hunted antelope he sprung to the edge 
Of his dark home of banishment. " Behold ! 
The surges of the tempest fluctuate 
In fierce tumultuous masses 'neath yon orb 
Of livid fire that from the north careers 
O'er the astonished and convulsed firmament ! 
Nor terror nor surprise is in thy look, 

For w^ell thou know'st that awful herald, seen 
Through uncreated shadows of events 
By Him who mourned o'er ruin while the pomp 
Of thy Jerusalem before Him glowed. 

The comet ! meteor of despair to man ! 

Like a condemned, demolished world of flame, 

With a vast atmosphere of torrent fire, 

It traverses immensity with speed 

Confounding thought, hurled on by viewless power 

Omnipotent and unimagined, robed 

In dreadful beauty — heaven's volcano — home. 

Perchance, of those gigantic spirits cast 

From holiness to hopelessness for pride. 

Lo ! how it sweeps o'er the sky's ocean ! wreaths 

Of purple light along its borders mount 

What seem innumerable colonnades 



40 THELASTNIGHT [CANTO I. 

Wrought by the seraphim, most meet to bear 

A temple huge as Atlas ; and the hues 

Deeper and lovelier than prismatic lights, 

Curl o'er the quivering arch as if to roof 

The vast mysterious fabric of the sea 

Of clouds that throng eternity, to which 

Egypt's most mighty pyramid were not 

More than a tinted shell to Caucasus. 

Are those, that swirl like wrecks amid the surf, 

Vast mountains wrenched from their abysses, thrown 

From one fire billow's bosom and engulphed 

To be again hurled on another's crest ? 

Lo ! through the sky, air-rocks, hissing and red. 

From the volcanic worlds of heaven descend ! 

What terrors of infinity they speak ! 

What revelations of undying power ! 

What be yon dark and spectral images 

That through the bickering fiery waves move slow 

Yet haughtily ? oh, what a furnace glare 

Rolled o'er the shadows then, and left their forms 

Radiant with ruin ! and above, methinks. 

Broad wings of diamoid brilliance wave and flash. 

Gift me thy wisdom, Love ! what said ihy sires 

Of such rcvcalmonts of divinitv?" 



CANTO I.] OF POMPEII. 41 

" Seldom they came and brandished o'er the world 
Their flickering and serpent tongues of flame : 
Seldom — for generations, centuries passed, 
And men saw not the burning heavens o'erwrit 
In gory characters of forewarned fate. 
Yet deemed our sages, least of dust, that all 
The meteors warring with the myriad worlds, 
That circle through the abyss of air, had been. 
Ere man, time, death, or sin was, stars of bloom, 
Casting their beauty and their fragrance on 
The zephyr, hymning on their flight through space 
The Maker, and awaiting Ufe to fill 
Their groves and valleys with the prayer and song. 
Yon shattered mass of boiling minerals 
Thus in its whirlwind madness driven on 
O'er shocked and startled ether, star-skilled eyes 
Of the Captivity's prophetic eld, — 
(When from the Temple in his triumph all 
Jehovah's holy shrines to wanton Jove 
Were borne by the proud Flavian victor) saw 
Beneath the horizon, ere, in arcs and wreaths 
And pillars canopied by thunder folds, 
The spiral torrents of volcanic fire 
Precipitated through the sphere of earth. 
Much in dread visions when between the wings 

6 



42 TIIELASTNIGHT [cANTO I. 

Of cherubim the Glory rested — much 

In banishment and desert soUtude — 

And more in ruin to the soul of seers 

Was given to know ; more than all human thought 

By all its systems can impart to man. 

Yet with least erring eye the Apostle saw, 

What time he felt the martyi-'s hovering crown. 

The cohorts of the conqueror, when we trod — 

(A banished nation, from our birth-soil rent. 

Helpless and homeless, hurled upon the spear), — 

The path of bondage, paused beneath the hill 

Of sycamores, when the meridian sun 

Flung his fierce arrowy splendors ; and around 

The cool o'ershadowed fountains, scowling on 

The scorched and agonizing captives, lay 

The imperial legions, cashing bitter scorn 

And ribald merriment on each who passed 

Among their stern battalions to assuage 

His deadly thirst : — scarce deigned plebeian hate 

This solitary solace ; — and they held 

Each pilgrim by the beard to bid him bow 

In worship to the dread Labarum, (") ere. 

In terms of mockery, they questioned him 

Of the sacked temple's holy spoils — what gold 

The chalices, cups, lavers, shrines would bring 



CANTO I.] O F P <) M P E I I. 48 

To the vast coffers of the Palatine. 

With lips unmoistened, weary, sick in soul, 

1 turned aside into a dreary rift 

Of rock o'erbowered with briar and aconite, 

To pray and perish, for I had on earth 

No friend ! my father, on that morn, had laid 

His weary head upon my breaking heart 

And died. They bound him to a blighted tree 

Upon a desert crag, and, to my shrieks 

Shouting, " The traitor may forget the path 

The Avenger treads ! let him look on to Rome !" 

The savage spoilers dragged me from his corse. 

Thus to the earth I cast me, waihng low, 

When a hand lifted me, and I beheld 

A form, a face, so towering, worn and full 

Of blended intellect and sanctity, 

Of majesty and mildness, that, methought, 

'Twas the Love-Angel ! and his look o'erspread 

My soul with joy inscrutable, he held 

The very spirit so ; and then his voice 

Passed through the mind's depths like a cherub hymn, 

" Daughter !'' he said, " one doom is sealed in blood ! 

The Holy City, stained by guilt, defiled 

By treason, sacrilege and rapine, sleeps 

In dust — and who but Got> shall bid her wake ? 



44 TIIELASTNIGHT [cANTO I. 

Yet judgment tarries not, because the arm 

Of Rome's proud Desolator worked the will 

Of heaven, fulfilling his own ruthless lust. 

Thou shalt behold the destiny of them 

Who from the furnace of ambition cast 

Their brands of ruin o'er the world — for me — 

The numbered hours rush on. My daughter I hear ! 

Thou art the child's child of one great in all 

That magnifies the mind and fills the heart 

With earth's sublimest influences — all 

That clothes our flesh with spotless robes, and claims 

Man's loftiest veneration, and heaven's love. 

Gamaliel, thy wise ancestor" — My soul 

Glowed at the name, and, gazing on that face 

Which never blanched with fear though tyrants frowned, 

Nor in success exulted, proud of gifts. 

Quickly 1 said, " Who should have talked with him, 

Master in Israel, and yet survive 

When all, save this wrecked spirit, dream not now ?" 

" 'Tis Saul of Tarsus !" said he, with his eyes 
Downcast in pale contrition : " he who first 
Bore faggot, brand and crucifix, and watched 
O'er the red garments of the martyred saint ; 
And, when the Temple's vail was rent, and heaven 



CANTO I.] O F P O EI P E 1 1. 45 

Shuddered as the pale King of Shadows waved 

His sceptre o'er the Son of God, — was held 

Aloft, amidst the people, to behold 

Him by our sires blasphemed and slain. — If toil, 

Baffled temptation, patient suffering. 

Perils by land and wave, and every ill 

Mortality hath borne — added to zeal 

And many years of vigil thought, may hope 

For pardon of my crime, I have not lacked. 

But, daughter ! as I rested on my path, 

Girdled by foes exulting, I beheld 

Thee clinging to thy parted sire, and sought 

In secret to unfold, now in thy grief. 

The sole Redemption our lost fathers spurned." " 

She paused as on its wandering orbit now 

Rushed madlier the lost star, and, gazing, cried ; 

" — But mark red Ruin's summoner ! beneath 

The quivering zenith and the zodiac dimmed 

By his storm glories, how the herald scorns 

The dominations of the dust, and dares 

The loftiest hierarchies of the heaven ! 

Ghastly with lava light, the molten clouds 

In cloven masses swirl before his path, 

And with the crash and uproar of the war 

Of all the antagonizing elements, 

The demon comet cleaves the shuddering air !" 



46 THELASTNIGHT [cANTO I. 

" And now the fiend-king of the meteor flings 
His glance on the vokiptuous wantonness 
Of Baiae and Pausyhpo, upon 
The fairest bosom of earth's beauty laid 
To stain, defile and desecrate ! beyond, 
The waters of Parthenope, along 
The curved and blossomed shores, from the dark brow 
Of the Misenum to Surrentum rocks. 
And Capreae's isle of carnage, curl and moan. 
Darkened with gory hues ; and on the expanse 
So beautiful in crystal claritude 
On yester morn, the trailing glare hangs now 
With tempest gloom contending, yet unmixed. 
The promontories and proud Appenines 
Seem to uplift their precipices o'er 
The wild air and affrighted sea in dread ; 
And the deep forests, quaking yet beneath 
The Alpine torrent blast, through all their clouds 
Of leaves, drink the dark crimson streams that pour 
In lurid cataracts of flame from heaven: 
And every breathing thing — man, beast, tree, flower — 
Pants in the siroc that from Lybian sands 
Hastens to mingle with the withering breath 
Of yon gigantic world of Death! — my frame 
Is numbed by torpor, yet the teri'or holds 



CANTO I.] O P P O M P E I I. 47 

My spirit captive to the majesty 

Of the unearthly Desolator ! — Love ! 

Thou with the great Apostle didst commune — 

O God ! 1 saw him die ! — the prophet said 1" 

" " Fulfilled, by Christian faith, the Law, whose voice 
Was judgment to our fathers, by the blood 
Of the One Victim unto all becomes 
The very soul of Love !" Thus he began, 
And with an angel eloquence, that thrilled 
My humbled heart, interpreted the law. 
That spake in thunders from the Desert Mount, — - 
He, the Awakener of nations, whose high gifts, 
E'en in the grandest spheres of fame, had won 
The palm and laurel crown, but that in vain 
Cajoling tempters spread their blandishments 
And the seducings of apt sophistries 
Tangled their meshes round him. Affluence, 
Dominion o'er the treasures and the thoughts 
Of traitor worshippers, the feigned awe breathed 
By vassal sycophants through tainted courts, 
Thronged temples, porticoes, and schools of sects, 
He cast aside as winds do dust to dust. 
He felt his intellect's supremacy. 
And shrunk from moulded clay that lipped his name 



48 THELASTNIOHT [CANTO I. 

In interested ecstacies — he knew 

Himself and sought not other knowledge here. 

In place of men's dissembled treacheries. 

He, clothed with immortality's own light. 

Pictured the Passion, spread the Eucharist, 

Bade peril and the equinox obey, 

Soothed the quick pangs of lonely malady. 

Warded the fold of faith assailed, and stood 

In every danger on the vanward tower 

To watch, guard, counsel, lead, bear scorn, and die ! 

Brief was our converse, for the Flavian trump, 

In triumph echoes, startled the great host. 

But, from that hour, through agony and shame, 

I have not trembled to confess the Word, 

Whose smile is, e'en in the worst evil, heaven. 

" Farewell ! my captive child !" he said, " when power 

Purples the rills with Christian sacrifice, 

And wanton crime mocks thy unpitied moans, 

Forget not Calvary and Gfethsemane 1 

Forget not that my eye beholds e'en now, 

Down the dark lapses of Time unconceived, 

A terrible atonement of the doom 

Knelled o'er the domes of Salem ; wildly o'er 

Infinitude the vision rushes — earth 

With shrieks of wrath and quick convulsions hails 



CANTO I.] OF P O M P K 1 1. 

The herald of despair — it whirls and leaps, 

Like Hving madness now, and tosses o'er 

Unterminating and unsounded air 

Perpetual deluges of flame, to warn 

The scoffer and the rioter, who mark 

No beam beyond their revel glare ! Farewell ! 

Desolate daughter of a slaughtered sire ! 

Forget not ! and the Paraclete console 

Thy lingering sorrows ! mine are almost done !'* 

The fountain of my heart o'erflowed ; I looked. 

Yet never more beheld the godlike brow 

Of Christendom's apostle ; through the shades 

Of the descending cavern slowly waved 

His mantle, the white turban seemed to hang 

A moment in the gloom ; his sandalled feet 

Sent back a few low sounds — and he had passed 

Unto his mission and his martyrdom ! 

But tell me, love ! beneath this ghastly light. 

The story of his doom (a) — how passed his soul 

From torture into triumph when the flesh 

Clung round the spirit in its agony ?" 

'* In calm magnificence — in meekness fit 
To awe earth's congregated dynasties, 
From gloom to glory, through its martyrdom. 



49 



60 THELASTNIGHT [cANTO I. 

It passed — triumphing mid the jeers of men !" 

Said Pansa, casting on the o'erhung crags 

And piles of rifted scoriae half green'd o'er, 

(Beauty embracing ruin), mid the intense hush 

Of o'erworn nature, glances of quick thought, 

As silently he caught faint smothered sounds 

Like breaths held back, and then, at intervals, 

Gasping in sobs, like night sighs of the surf. 

With startled ear, strained eye and quivering brow. 

Listened the Christian ; but the dells lay still 

In their green blessedness, the hills looked down 

From their cold solitudes ; above, the flame 

Of the banned star flared far and dim — beneath. 

Lay Pompeii, folded in the sleep that flings 

Oblivion o'er the exhaustion of desire ; 

And, breathing terror from his burdened heart. 

He thus portrayed the passion of the Saint. 

" No psalteries or cymbals poured their waves 

Of music round his death-hour ; no grand hymn 

Gushed from the tabret, and no gentle voice 

Of sorrow from the harp, to wail his doom. 

Alone amid his slayers and the foes 

Of Him they crucified, Paul calmly stood, 

Nor daring pagan hate nor dreading it, 

His white hair streaming on the autumnal wind ; 

His countenance, trenched o'er by thought and care 



CANTO I.] O P P O M P E I I. SI 

And toil and suffering, gathered, as he looked 
Upon the Praetor on his throne of power. 
The grandeur of his youth, the matchless light 
Of a triumphant intellect that grasped 
An immortality of bliss, and feared 
No mortal agony when joy was death. 

* Thou art a Christian V Paul held up the Cross, 

♦ Thou art a Hebrew V ' Ay, I was, and worse.' 
' Thou art a Traitor V ' Not to God or man I* 
Cried the Apostle, and his monarch form 
Rose from the ruins of his years, and stood, 
Like the unpeered statue of Olympian Jove, 
Before the quailing Paynim. ' Edicts, hurled 
By Agrippina's son, had Rome a soul. 

E'en from blasphemed humanity would call 

For vengeance on the utterer. Where 's the guilt 

Of thought ? the crime of faith, whose very soul 

Is low-voiced worship and still charities ? 

The loftiest mind most loves humility ! 

The imperial ban ('twas uttered by the banned) 

Leaves deeds untouched but criminates the thought ; 

Hales famished, homeless and (for this vain world) 

Hopeless believers of an humble faith, 

To judgment, not to trial, and allows 

The apostacy, it arraigns as crime 



52 TII £ L A S T M G H T [CANTO I. 

Death or denial ! is the only law 
Of Rome, whose wings are o'er the world, to men 
So poor, 'they have no pillow, and so few, 
They have no power; and yet the Palatine 
Fears they — they may subvert its giant might ! 
Is truth so terrible to the 'immortal gods,' 
That they in triumph tremble at a voice? 
Dreads the fierce Thunderer the cicada's song ? 
Or your gay god of Revels, lest the charm 
Of his wreathed thyrsus may depart when woods 
And caverns are the palaces, and rills 
And berries all the banquet of his foes? 
Yet none of all thy fabled deities. 
Save hirsute fauns and lonely oreads, 
Behold our rites, or need shrink to behold. 
How should conspiracy consort with want 
And weakness so extreme, they lack the power 
To lift the dying head or bear the corse 
Beyond the grotto where they weep and pray? 
And who of all Rome's judges can arraign 
The Christian for a deed that could design 
Possession of a hamlet? or a hut? 
We seek no empire save untrammelled thought ; 
We court no patron save The Crucified ; 
We win no crown save that of martyrdom.' 



C.^NTO I,] o F r O M P E I I. 53 

' Smite, silence the blasphemer !' shrieked the judge, 
Robing his lear in wrath ; ' too long we waste 
The Empire's time — chain the conspirator! 
And, lictors ! guard his cross from slaves, and all 
The baser multitudes that throng to hear 
The maniac treasons of the Nazarenes, 
Hoar breeder ol sedition, thou must die P 

' Nature said that when T was born, and God, 
Ere that, a thousand ages, when sin rose 
From Hades; not in vain have all the power, 
Splendor and guilt of Rome before me passed 
In danger yet in solitude, and now 
I fold unto my bosom that deep death 
I never sought nor feared, and thank the ruth 
Of that derision which ordains the Cross. 
The master of your vast — of every realm, 
Sea, earth and sky hold, taught me by His groan 
That the last breath was agony, but He 
Hath sent the Paraclete to o'ershadow all 
Who perish by his passion, and I go, 
Purple idolater! having wandered long 
Through many years of weariness, to rest, 
Where, couldst thou ever share my bliss, this hour, 
With less of anguish, would pass o'er my soul !' 



54 THELASTNIGHT [cANTO I, 

Then led they him unto (') the Accursed Field 

Beyond the Patriot's Precipice, mid bands 

Of mailed Praetorians, bearing in the blaze 

Of noon Caesar's Labarum (ne'er unfurled 

But in the triumph's tempest ;) in the van 

The aruspices in purple trabeae walked, (•«) 

Their oakleaf chaplets waving : then in throngs. 

The Luperci, the maddened priests of Mars, 

In crimson togas and broad burnished plates 

Of brass that mirrored carnage, followed quick. 

And the wild flamens of Cybele, stained 

By the red vintage, and the countless crowd 

Of magi, augurs, senators and slaves, 

Paphians and vestals, through the marble streets, 

From dusky lanes and sculptured palaces, 

Temple and forum and Cimmerian den. 

Outpoured in pageantry or squahd want. 

Like Scylla's whirlpool floods, to feast on death. 

'Twas ever thus in Rome ; she nursed her horde 

Of bandits, from the first, on blood, and war, 

Wedding with carnage, wrote her very creed 

In groans, and wrought her gods from myriad crimes. 

So on they led the martyr stooping low 

Beneath the felon cross, his glorious brow, 

Oft wet with dungeon dew, soiled by the dust 



CANTO I.] O P P O M P E 1 1. 65 

Of the armed cohort, yet his undimmed eye 

Flashing its birthlight radiance unto heaven, 

Drinking revealments of God's paradise. 

Oath, menace, jeer and ribald mockeries, 

The vulgar's worship of all greatness, passed 

Like the sirocco o'er Campanian flowers 

Or snowpiles of the Appenines, gathering bloom 

And zephyr coolness, o'er his sainted soul. 

His lofty nature did, a moment, seem 

Burning in scorn upon his lips, and once, 

Clasping the heavy cross as 't were a wand, 

He lifted his proud form and matchless head, 

And o'er the helmed lictors looked upon 

The mockers — and they shrunk beneath his glance 

Like grass beneath the samiel ; yet no more, 

Hushing the spirit of his grandeur, he 

Deigned to deem earth his home, or earthly things 

Fit wakeners of his thought. And so he came 

Unto the Accursed Field, and one, all shunned, 

Loathing, drave down the massy cross, whereon, 

With lingering patience, he had stretched and nailed, 

Through palm and sole, the Martyr, every blow 

Tearing the impaled nerves, and through heart and brain 

Sending a sick convulsion ; but the pangs 

Passed quickly o'er his features, though the limbs 



&6 T H E L A S T N I O H T [CANTO t. 

Quivered, and, as he looked to heaven, a Hght. 

Brighter than universes of hright suns, 

Fell roLUid the Martyr in his agony 1 

* A Prodigy ! Jove flashes wratli! the gods 

"Forbid the death !' shouted the multitude, 

Like foliage fluctuating, as the spells 

Of all-believing Fear fell on their hearts. 

•' All Rome shall perish if the Christian dies!' 

* Hence, vassals ! fools ! home to your huts ! ?way !' 
Rose the proud Prefect's quick, stern, ruthless voice. 
Whose echo was an oracle. ' Ye slaves ! 
The beast should batten on the slain, 1 know, 
And ve can taunt and torture helplessness, 
And dread the very shade of dangler's ghost; 
But, by the Spectre River ! Rome's best p).>ears 
Shall search your dastard dast, if ye but speak 
Ere each adores his hearth-god ! hence ! away !' '*■ 

The Gracchi from the Avenline dragged forth (") 
For senators to slaughter well displayed 
The liberties of Rome ; and they, who held 
The Rriton chief barbarian, shrunk away, 
When a patrician bade, without a voice ! 
But bondage and brute violence an* one. 
Then, as the steps of the vast throng retired 



CANTO I.] OF P O M P i: I I. '^"^ 

Like dying waves, the priests and guards outspread 
Their banquet on the plain beneath the tents — 
(The kalends of the seventh month had come) 
They bore to shield the sun, while there they watched 
The fever, famine, thirst and pangs of death. 
Pheasants, Falernian, mirth, song, jest and oath 
Inspired the revel 'neath the cross, and all 
Care and command, save that which bade them see 
The Martyr die, fled from their spirits now. 
Wanton with wine, the priest revealed to scorn 
His wiles and sophistries and oracles, 
Blessing the phantom gods that shadows held 
Dominion o'er the conscious fears of men. 
Warriors portrayed, in tales of other climes, 
Numidia, Arcady or Syrian realms, 
The splendor of the spoil, the gems and gold, 
The perfumes, luxuries and regal robes, 
Fair slaves and diamonds, wafted from the shores 
Of the Orient, in homage to the diadem 
That circled nations. Many a demon deed 
And dark career of crime then first to light 
Leapt from the dizzy brain of guilt, and moved 
Applause and rival histories of acts 
O'erpast ; how dusky kings in palaces, 
Amid their pomp, gleaming magniircence, 

8 



58 T H E li A S T N I G H T [gANTO 

Did perish in the flame, and none could save 

The victim, though they bore his coffers forth 

Hovi' queens and virgin princes in their bowers, 

On broidered couches slumbering, while their robes, 

Like zodiacs, glittered in the purple light. 

Felt not the serpent that trailed o'er their sleep, 

But died in their pavilions, voicelessly ! 

Then senators and knights, with mutual mirth, 

Discoursed of laws enacted or suppressed 

As suited Cx-sar, and quenched liberties. 

Naming them treason ; and asserted rights, 

They branded as seditions ; and revealed 

To the unshuddering guards the mysteries 

Of Rome's proud Forum, where the agonies 

Of desolated kingdoms, and the shrieks 

Of nations in their bondage, and the tears 

Of eloquent affection to the lords 

Of power were music and unholy mirth. 

Then round the martyr mingled voices ros(^ 

Louder, and laughter to impiety 

Replied, and men, the gods, truth, chastity. 

Love, honor, courage and fidelity. 

All were but mockeries to the rioters. 

" Hercle! is this the Lupercal? ye howl 

Like Conscript Fathers when the spoil is lost! 



CANTO r.j OF POMPEII. ■">*> 

Peace!" said the Pref'cl — " see ye not the lips 
Of yon hoar traitor trombUng with quick thought? 
Listen ! he speaks his last, — his heart 's too old 
To linger in the torture of the tree !" 

"The isles shall wait, Jehovah! for thy law, (•z) 
And knowledge to and fro shall spread, till earth 
Utter Thy praise like voices of the sea !" 
Thus spake the victim, in delirium, 
■Wrought by deep anguish, wandering yet among 
The dear homes of his mission. "Dangers wave 
Their wings around us, brethren ! and the waste. 
Boundless and shadowless, must still be trod ! 
Yet not by dim lights of a doubting faith 
Are ve led on through wrong and woe and want. 
For the Anointed hath not left us here 
Without a Comforter, and hath He not 
Laid up, in many mansions, crowns of joy. 
Where mortal doth put on immortality? 
Grieve not the Spirit ! yet a little while, 
And ye shall reap the harvest and rejoice ; 
And though, ere then, this flesh must see decay. 
Yet I shall mingle with your prayer and hymn, 
7>y morn and eve — and breathe the Savior's smile 
O'er the glad isles of Gentiles so beloved !" 



"j'« 



()0 THE LAST NIGHT [cA.NTO I. 

Then spasms of vivid pain passed o'er his face, 

His eyes rolled back upon the brain, and left 

The pale streaked orbs writhing in gloom — the lids 

Now folded to their lashes, coiling now 

In nature's deep convulsion, till the veins, 

O'erfraught and purple, on his cloven brow, 

Seemed bursting o'er the altar of his soul. 

His livid lips, parted by torture, breathed 

Deep undistinguished murmurs, then compressed 

Like sculptured curves and lines of thought ; the limbs. 

Meantime, grew cold, and the dark gathering blood 

Forsook its own familiar temple, when 

The shadows of the sepulchre stole on. 

'* Dis leaves his realm to welcome him," said one. 

" Peace ! thou discourteous knight ! jeers skill not now ; 

Thy mirth is motlied with mortality. 

And thou thyself mayst pray for Lethe ere 

The graceless Stygian grasps thine obolus. 

Put on thy knighthood ! peace ! he speaks again !'' 

And the proud Prefect flung his casque to earth. 

Id moans, like autumn gusts, the martyr spake, 
Hovering o'er shattered memories like the sun 
O'er broken billows of the shoreless sea ! 
"Let me behold thv domes, Damascus! meet 



CANTO I.] OF POMPEII. «*1 

It is the arrows of Life's penitence 

Should pierce the persecutor. — Oh, farewell! 

My brother! blessed in Pisidia be 

Thy walk and waiching I — To the Unknown God ! 

Are ye the worshipped wisdom of all Greece, 

When ye disdain your thrice ten thousand gods. 

Adoring Doubt or Demon, knowing not 

The Deity revealed? — Ye can attest, 

I have not coveted the gold of earth. 

The gorgeous raiment or vain pomp of men. 

But ministered, in all, unto myself! 

Ay, driven to and fro in Adria 

Upon Eurociydon, no hope is left 

But in the Wielder of the wave and wind. 

Despair not ! though sun, moon and stars are hid, 

Jehovah watches from eternity ! 

Contend not, brethren ! untaught man may win 

Redemption from the deep crimes of his age, 

And be a law unto himself; e'en Rome 

Hath in her years of darkest guilt had such. 

Oh, sorrow not like them who have no hope! 

The seed shall not decay though I am dust! 

— Why do ye scourge me, soldiers? know ye not 

I am a Roman? I appeal to Csesar! 

— Bring me a winter robe when thou dost come 



62 T M E L A » T N I G H T [CANTO T. 

Again — the night is cold among the hills, 

And I am very weary ! so, farewell !" 

Then the bare nerves and sinews sent their pangs 

For the last time upon his %inting heart, 

And, as beyond the trembling battlements 

Of agonizing flesh, the spirit strove 

To flee, beholding heaven, the bitter strife 

O'erawed the infidel, and round the cross 

Stood silent pagan revellers ! C'ncc more 

The apostle's peerless mind gleamed out — his eyes. 

Living in the dark light of boyhood, flung 

Their dying splendors o'er the Imperial Hills, 

The mountains and the waters — while his pulso 

Intensely throbbed and paused — and the heart's chill 

And Tever rushed to life's deep fount and spread 

A shuddering faintness and sick gasping sense 

Of falling through infinitude, o'er all 

The vital functions of his frame. " My God !" 

"Twas but a hollow echo from the tomb. 

Yet it said •* Jesus ! let me — see — Thy face !" 

And Saul of Tarsus stood before his God '" 

" As thou shalt stand before Gactulia's king. 
The Barcan lion !" cried the ruthless voice 
Of Diomede's outwatching messenger. 



CANTO I.] OF POMPEII. 63 

The undeterred achiever of his will — 

Grasping the Christian while his fellows rushed 

Upon his pale but dreadless Hebrew bride. 

" Weil !" said the minion, " traitors serve, sometimes. 

The empire's weal, and martyrdom, methinks, 

Hath a rare syren music, for ye stood 

Grandly before us in the comet light. 

Wrapt in your exalted Nazarene, 

Till we could climb the cliffs and do the hest 

Of the proconsul, unfulfilled too long ! 

Come, Rabbi ! thou art skilled in subterfuge, 

And hast not scorned the sword in better times — 

The games shall test thy genius — on with me ! 

The Gladiator's banquet waits, and thou 

Shalt quaff the massic or the tears of Christ. C^) 

Veles ! thou hast thy charge ! the Praetor's coin 

Rewards not slack obedience, though his wrath 

Ne'er palters with a thought of treachery i 

The lady — Venus ! but she hath a brow 

Like the coy Delian queen ! — mast be disposed, 

With all respect, — lead on ! the daystar wanes !" 

•• Thraso ! we were not foes when, side by side. 
We scaled Antonia's tower, and saw the walls 
Of Zion crushed — Why now .' thou art disguised," 



64 THELAST NIGHT [CANTO I. 

Said Pansa, with the heart's best eloquence, 
As down the steep crags turned the hctor band, 
Bearing his bride. " Why from my heart, by guile 
Betrayed, by violence asunder rent, 
Tearst thou my Mariamne, mocking thus ?" 

" And dost thou ask, apostate ? hast thou not 
Contemned the gods, scorning thy father's faith ? 
Forsaken the eagle banners, deeming rocks 
Better than camps ? and sowed sedition, thick 
As sand-clouds, through the legions ? thou hast wed 
A captive, too, whom, though with all thy gold 
Thou bought'st, poor fool ! yet hast not held, as bids 
The law, in bondage ! dost thou ask again ? 
Mine office deigns no farther word, but more 
Thou soon shalt learn in bitterness ! lead on !" 

" Bear me with her, where'er ye drag, whate'er 
Ye or your lords in lawlessness inflict ! 
No more my voice shall crave or ye deny !" 

*' The Praetor's edict suits no purposes 
Apostates may desire ; your destinies 
Have separate mansions, renegade !" Along 
Ravine and precipice and lava bed. 



CANTO I.] O F P O M P K I r. 65 

Vineyard, pomegranate grove and vale of bloom. 
The Pagan haled his victims, till the gate 
Of Pompeii flew wide, and Pansa saw, 
In speechless agony, a moment ere 
The Mamertine abysses (■«) were his home. 
Pale shuddering Mariamne through the gloom 
Of statues, pillars, temples and hushed streets, 
Where fountains only witnessed deeds of death, 
Bonio like a shadow to a nameless doom. 



KND OF CANTO 1. 



THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEH. 



CANTO 11. 



Vandal and violater, Time ! thou art 

The spirit's master — the heart's mocker ! thou 

Pourest the deluge of returnless years 

Over the gasping bosom, and on thought, 

That, in aurora streams of magic light, 

Flung its deep glory o'er the heavens, dost heap 

Clouds without flame or voice, cold, deep and dark, 

Which are the shroud of the mind's sepulchre 1 

Far better not to be than thus to be ! 

Better to wander like the gossamer, 

The baffled buffet of each aimless wind, 

Than sink like dial shadows, all but breath 

Leaving the wreck that trembles on the strand. 

And why to man, feeble in youth's best hours 

Of intellect and power, in all his hopes 



68 THE LAST NIGHT [cANTOlI. 

So false unto himself and his compeers, 
Are strength and pride and potency assigned ? 
Why is his grandeur wedded to despair? 
His love to grief? his heart to hopelessness? 
His fame and his dominion to the dast ? 

Yet thou, Tyrant of Air ! hast chronicles 
Of darker import, and the world is filled 
With thine unpitying ministers of woe. 
Beneath the rush of thy dark pinions nought 
Lives, or life lingers, breathing at its birth 
The death that soon becomes an ecstacy. 
Wan yet not hoary, broken at the goal 
Of young ambition, myriads feel thy flight 
In torture and desire in vain to sleep. 
Earth's beauty, heaven's magnificence, the charms 
Of zephyrs, verdure, azure, light, hills, streams. 
And forests, castelled by eternal rocks. 
Beheld long, fade upon the sated soul. 
Exhaust by their' sublimities, and shed 
Their fragrance, music and romance on hearts 
Inured and soiled — too weak to bear their bliss, 
Too cold to feel their glories ! And we roam 
The paradise of all earth's pleasantries, 
Amid the care, toil, phrcnzy, want and strife 









r.VNTO II.] OF rOMPElI. fc)!> 

Of the protracted agonies of breath, 
Feeding on raptures, that, fulfilled, are woes ! 
But o'er thy ruins. Time ! and the thick clouds 
Of the heart's mysteries a sun shall burst, 
As now Apollo's steeds, caparisoned 
In mornbeam hues, rush up the Appenines, 
Star-eyed Eous and wild Phlegon first, 
Pouring the sungod's splendors o'er the domes 
Of Pompeii waking from her last still sleep. 

As from the violet pavilions stole 
The dayspring's beautiful and blessed light, 
Like rose-leaves floating, and the mountains bent 
Their awful brows in worship at the fount 
Of radiance, by all ages sacred held 
As the peculiar home of deity, 
Mythra or Bel or Elios — the name 
Erred, but the spirit brooded o'er the heavens, 
Up rose the vassals from their earth-beds, late 
On yesternight pressed by the sinking limbs 
And breaking hearts of bondage ; no perfumes 
Needed the stripe-gashed body or shorn head : 
No lavers waited thraldom ; on they flung 
Rude garments soiled by servitude, and turned 
To grind at the accursed mill, and lift 



"'" THE LAST NIGHT [cANTO H. 

Their branded brows at the stern master's voice, 

In silence passing o'er iMosaic floors 

To bear the golden bowl or myrrhine cup, 

Falernian or frankincense to their lords. 

For them no statue bowed in majesty, 

No consul framed a law, and none of all 

The common deeds of earth had interest, 

For they were stricken from the roll of men 

And banished from humanity, ("^) and Rome 

Gazed from the temple of her trophies on 

The hopeless captives — from her triumph hills, 

Where armies shouted Liberty ! upon 

Her myriads of bondmen, with a smile, 

That thanked her thrice ten thousand deities. 

The o'ershadowing empire of the world was Free ! 

Waking to want from dreams of ailluence, 

Parting from splendor to meet toil and tears. 

Then rose pale Indigence in shattered cells. 

Dusky and damp and squalid, yet o'ertaxed 

By the imperial rescript, to endure 

The taunts of mimes, the old indignities 

Of freedmen, merciless in novel power, 

The insolence of taskers and the shame 

Of slack dismissal with their pittance, when 

The proud patrician deigned to bid his slave 



fe 




CANTO II. j OF POMPEII. '71 

Cast the base drachms at the plebeian's feet ! 

Ere melted the wreathed mists from isle or mount. 

City or lake, while Pompeii's pinnacles 

Ascended in uncertain grandeur yet, 

The artizan went forth to build again 

The fabrics earthquakes had late sported with ; 

Doomed, ere the dial rested shadowless, 

To cease from toil for ever ! — and the sounds 

Of early servile labor multiplied 

Through glimmering arcades and noisome courts 

Thronged ever by the peasants pomp creates, 

As the sun gathered up his streaming rays, 

And his broad disk lanced light o'er all the earth. 

Late, from their holy dreams in the profound 
Of their proud temples, ne'er by foot profane 
Invaded, waked the pagan oracles. 
The ministers of mysteries all unrevealed, 
Save to the forgers of the fictions, — gazed 
Bewildered on the amphorae that stood 
Beneath their sacred stores ('«) — and turned, once more. 
To matin visions of deluding faith. 
Processions and responses, gorgeous robes, 
Banquets, and free bequests when they alone 
Stood o'er the dying, and dominion bought 



72 T II E L A S T N I G H T [CANTO II. 

By endless cycles of hypocrisies. 

All hierarchies, howsoe'er unlike 

In ritual, are in earthly hope the same ; 

Pleasure, their idol, ease, their ecstacy. 

Power, their ambition, and the will of God, 

The blasphemed agency of their own lusts. 

The virgin dew yet on the verdure hung. 
When, one by one, the mourners of the lost 
Stole to the street of sepulchres and sat 
Beside the ashes of their ancestors, 
Watching the beams that never more would greet 
The perished, and, they thought not, never more 
Light Pompeii to her loved festivities ! 
Few, on this mission of elysian love, 
Left Tyrian couches and the bliss of sense : 
Yet thetj were blessed in the seraphic gift 
Of feeling, which, in solitude, is heaven ! 
Tombs were the earliest temples, the first prayer^ 
Gushings of grief, the holiest offerings. 
Tears of bereavement, and the loveliest hymns. 
Sighs over the departed ; worship, then, 
Rose from the heart, that, mid these simple rites.- 
Felt no delusion or vain mystery : 
Urns were the altars, and the incense, love. 



CANTO II.] OF POMPEII, 73 

The sodden pulse, offered by humble faith, 
Desiring not demanding, far outweighed 
Oblations chosen fronri barbaric spoils ; 
And with a purer purpose, poverty 
Knelt by the wayside image of the god 
Than gorgeous pontiffs by Olympian shrines' 

When sin gains sanction and the heart is soilea 
By unrebuked, ay, customary crime, 
The tenderest yearnings of the bosom — love, 
With its dependence and delight— its smile, 
Like rifted rose-leaves, and its tear, like dew 
Shook from the pinions of the seraphim. 
Breathe unaccepted music ; the caress 
Of childhood hath no bliss — its early words 
And looks of marvel find no fellowship — 
For the evil usages of life, that dwells 
But in the glare and heat of midnight pomp, 
Corrode, anneal and desecrate all love. 
Yet some preserve the vivid thoughts — the charms 
Of household sanctities ; and one such now 
Rose from affection's spotless couch and bent 
O'er the angel face of virgin infancy ; 
And thus her gentle and blest thoughts found words. 
•' Thou sleep'st in Love's own heaven, my child ! that brotv 

10 



74 T H E L A S T K I © H T [CAJMTO II. 

No guilt hath darkened and no sorrow trenched : 

Those lips, which from thy fragrant breath receive 

The incense hues of thy sweet heart, no gust 

Of uttered passion hath defiled ; thy cheek 

Glows with elysian health and holiness : 

And all thy little frame seems thrilling now 

In the pure visions of a soul sky born. 

The Lares be aroimd thee, oh, my child ! 

For never yearned Cybele over Jove 

With transport deeper than is mine o'er thee !" 

Then o'er her babe she spread the drapery, 

Kissing the shut lids and unsullied brow, 

Where the mind dreamed, perchance, of bliss foregone, 

And shading with her byssus robe and flowers 

The sunbeams from the sleeper, with a step 

Soft as the antelope's, she stole and knelt 

In prayer for that loved one at Vesta's shrine. 

Breathing their bliss in melodies of love. 
Their pictured wings fanning the ether, flew 
The song birds, and the groves were full of mirth 
Too pure for any voice but music's, when. 
Lifting their dim eyes to the blaze of day, 
Campania's proud patricians deemed the hour 
So far removed from common time of rest. 



CANTO II.] O F P O M P E I I. 75 

Without dishonor, they might breathe the breeze, 

That o'er the dimpled waters and the flowers, 

Since the first tints of dawn, had played hke thought 

Over the face of childhood — yet bore now 

The vivid iieai and dense effluvise 

Of culminating sun and marsh exhaled. 

To mask the treacheries of eye and lip 

Is pride's philosophy, the felon's skill, 

The code of kings, the priesthood's mystic creed. 

Unknown to accolytes ; and none beheld, 

Save the bronze lares, revel's quivering eye. 

And dull brow bound with iron, or the face 

Of matron guilt pallid with watch and waste, 

And trembling in the faintness of a heart 

Wrecked by excess of passion, yet again 

Gasping for midnight poison ! Untrimmed lamps, 

Sculptured with shapes of ribaldry to lure (i'^) 

Even satiety to sin's embrace. 

To tempt the timid and inflame the inured, 

Stood round the household altar, and upon 

The silken couch of customary crime 

Shed the pale, sickly light of vice o'erworn. 

Oh that lascivious guilt at midnight wore 

The lurid look, the loathing shame of morn ! 

Bracelets of gems, enchanted amulets. 



"76 T H E L A S T N I G H T [cANTO II. 

And vases wrought with wanton images, 
And frescoes, picturing the satyr joys 
Of Jove and Hermes and the Laurel God, 
(For the old divinities were human crimes) 
And fountains, with nude naiads twining round 
The unveiied tritons, and fair pedestals. 
With groups of Paphians, in the forest dim, 
(Where gloating forms lifted the filmy robes 
Of the bacchantes in voluptuous sleep,) 
Holding their revelries with gods disguised, 
And every portraiture of pleasure known 
To them, whose whole religion was excess, — 
All in the chaos of the morning, flung 
Alluring raptures over sated sense 
And sickened passion, uttering, without voice, 
" Ye buy Repentance at the price of hell !" 

Loathing the fiend they folded to their hearts, 
The madness and the malady of life, 
The languor and the listlessness, that spring 
From the exhaustion of a maniac lust. 
The masters of the throng, in marble baths 
And Araby's perfumes and cordial cups 
Sought renovation for renewed delights. 
Odors and thermal waters may restore 



CANTO II .] O F V O M P E I I. 77 

The maddening fever of the flesh, but earth 

Hath nought to hush the muttering lips of guilt, 

Or quell Death's agonies wiiich guiit inflicts. 

The Sybarite from Salmacis arose (' ^^ 

To consummate his orgies with fresh bhss, 

But Lethe had no power o'er memories 

Of broken vows and imprecating oaths 

Made by the River of the Dead, what time 

Cocytus moaned and Phlegethon upcast 

Its lurid gleams o'er chasms of torrent gloom. 

Bidding the banished reveller, who dared 

To mock the Styx, roam by its blackened shores 

Through the dark endlessness of shame and woe ! 

It was the Harvest Festival ; the corn 
Of Ceres filled the garners, and the vine 
Of the Mirth-Maker from the winepress poured 
Divine Falernian ; and the autumnal feast, 
The gathering of the fruits, to all the gods, 
(Through the Earth-Mother and the King of Cups) 
Was dedicated with a soul of joy. 
In every temple the proud priesthood put 
Their purple vestures and tiaras on 
For the solemnities they loved to hold. 
And masked the haughtiness of peerless power 



TS- THE lAST NIGHT [cANTOII. 

Beneath an austere aspect and a faith 

That ypared no violater ot iheir laws. 

Forth wiih the swell of trumpet and the voice 

Of mellow flute and cithern, came the pomp 

In all its grandest pageantry ; the god 

Of light gleaming on banners wrought with fornix 

Picturing theogenies or bridal rites, 

Or earthly deeds of the divinities. 

First walked Jove's pontiff in his diadem, 

His crowned and sceptred standard fleckered o'er 

With lightning bolts and tempest gloom, upborne 

By popae, weaponed for the sacrifice. 

Then in the mazes of a wanton dance, 

Lifting the thyrsus crowned with ivy wrf^aths. 

And muttering banquet hymns, the priests of mirth 

With antic laces and wild steps leapt on. 

Next, with a golden ensign, vales and liills 

Along its borders, filled with flocks and herds, 

And tall sheaves in the centre, slowly trod 

The ministers of Saturn's Daughter blest. 

But, dimming all by splendor only known 

In Eg} pt's voiceless mysteries, above 

The long array now towered the gonfalon 

Of Isis, glowing with devices shame 

Shrunk to behold, the shapes of earth's worst sins — ('®) 



CANTO U.J OFl'OMPEII. 79 

Deified fiends ! and with the lozel's smiles, 

Her crowned pastophori, proud of their shame, 

Waved round the ribald picture as thev passed 

The mansions of their votaries, and maids 

And matrons hailed it from their porticoes. 

Apollo from his eyes of ecstacy 

And lips of bloom filling the bosomed air 

With oracles ; and Hermes, in the embrace 

Of Iris, winging the blue heavens of love. 

With his enchanted rod pointing to earth ; 

Vesta mid her Penates welcoming ; 

The heavenly Venus, with her starUght eyes, 

Veiled brow and girded cestus, looking up 
To the pure azure, spotless as her soul, 

Followed by the more worshipped Cyprian queen. 
So shadov/ed by her draperies that guilt 
Revelled in beauty mocked with robes to tempt; 
The war-god with the ancilia and the plumes (^ •) 
Of gory fight, whose triumph was despair ; 
Proud Pallas with stern lips, and stainless brow, 
Surmounted by its olive wreath, and eyes 
That never quailed in their calm chastity ; 
Cotytto — the earth-passion's idol — mid 
The unclothed Baptae painted with designs 
To startle e'en sear'd sense into a blush : 



8U T H E L A S T M « M t' [cANTO II. 

The sea-king with his trident ; the castout 

And shapeless forger of the lightning bolts : 

The deity of Erebus with her 

He bore from Enna, and his son, the god 

Of gold ; Diana, in her treble forms, 

Magician, huntress, virgin of the skies ; 

Hirsute and pranksy Pan, amid his fauns ; 

Nymphs, dryads, oreads and tritons ; — all 

The beautiful or dread or ixncouth thoughts 

The imagination made divinities, 

In gorgeous chaos, to the Pantheon 

Through Pompeii's streets thronged in their riot hour. 

Behirjd the glittering crowd, the hecatomb 
Of victims, led by golden cords, moved on. 
To every god the sacrifice was meet ; 
The dove to Venus, and the bull to Mars ; 
To Dian, the proud stag — the lawless goat, 
That tears the vine-leaves, to the deity 
Of the gay banquet ; and their horns, o'erlaid 
With gold, tossed haughtily amid the crowd, 
As, rolling their undreading eyeballs roimd, 
They glared defiance and amazement, mute 
Yet merciless when fit occasion came. 
" An evil omen ! lo ! the victims strive. 



CANTO IT.] OF POM Pi: II. f^l 

And we must drag them to the altar !" (->) said 
The trembUng augur — " what most dismal grief 
And fatal destiny shall follow this ?" 
Yet onward surged the multitudes with boughs 
Of olive in their hands and laurel crowns, 
And Zeian barley spears folded in wreaths 
By locks from richest fleeces, as they passed 
The temple images, with practised skill, 
Bending their foreheads on expanded palms. 
And onward o'er the Appian Way the host 
Of mitred, robed and bannered priests drew nigh 
The fane of all the gods, and, at a word, 
The music softened to a solemn strain, 
The measured voices of the holy chiefs 
Ascended in a song, and, as they ceased. 
The people, like the ocean's myriad waves. 
Raised their responses to the harvest prayer. 

THE PiEAN OF THE PANTHEON. 

s T 11 o p II e: 

Wielder of WorUls that round Elysium dance 
Beneath the brightness of thy sleepless eye, 

Who from the bosom of the flame dost glance, 
And feelst our time in thine Eternity ! 

n 



82 T H E L A S T NIGHT [CANTO 11. 

Thou deathless Jove ! 
Monarch of awe and Love ! 
Look from the radiant height of tliy dominion 82 

On thine adorers novi^, 
And waft thy smile on Hermes' rainbow pinion. 
And bend thine awful brow ! 
Immortal and supreme ! 
With vows and victims to thy shrine we come, 

And hearts that breathe the incense of their praise. 
And first fruits borne from each protected home, 

To bless thee for the blessings of our days ! 
Have we not heard thy spirit in the dreams, 
That glance o'er thought like morn's young light on streams f 
In visions, watched thy bird of triumph near 
The azure realms of thine ethereal sphere, 
Waiting behests of victories and powers 

And counsels from thy throne ? 
Hath not thy thunder voice, the summer showers, 

The lightning spirit all thine own. 
Bade strew the exulting earth with fruits and flowers ? 
Therefore, we render up 
The spotless victim from the wood 

And household field, and from libation cup 
Pour the rich vine's unmingled blood. 



CANTO II.] O P P O M P E r r. ^'i 

Accept our praise and prayer, 
Sceptred Immortal of the chainless Air ! 

Chorus. — King of Elysium ! hear, oh hear 
From thine Olympian seat ! 

To priest and people bow thy sovereign ear ! 
We dare not see thy face, but kiss thy sacred feet ! 

ANT I STROPHE. 

God of the mornlight, when the orient glows 
With thy triumphant smile, and ether feels 
The Hours and Seasons, mid their clouds of rose, 
vSwept o'er its bosom on the living wheels 
Of thy proud car, 
When through the abysses of the heaven each star 
Before the splendor of thy spirit fades 
T^ike insect glimmerings in the noontide glades ! 
Hail, radiant Phoebus ! lord 
Of love and life, of wisdom, music, mirth, 

At whose resistless word 
Being and bliss dance o'er the blossomed earth ! 

O Pythian Victor, hear ! 
Pseonian healer of our ills, behold ! 

Breather of oracles ! thy sons draw near 
To feel the music of thy lyre unfold. 
As shadows change before the morn to gold, 



?^4 THK LAST NIGHT [cANTO II. 

The sealed-up volume of our darkened minds. 

Breathe on Favonian winds, 
And from the effluence of immortal light 

Strew our dim thoughts with rays, 

Till, sorrowing o'er this failing praise, 
We know, with burning hearts, to sing thy deeds aright ! 

God of the harp and bow, 
Whose thoughts are sunbeam arrows, hear f 

Giver of flowers ! dissolver of the snow ! 
Accept our gifts and let thy sons draw near f 

Chorus. — lo Psean ! from thy sphere. 

King of prophets, hear, oh hear ! 
From hallowed fount and hoary hill, 

And haunt of song and sunlight near, 
With inspirations come and every bosom fill ! 

E P O D E. 

Reveal the shrine ! wave ye the laurel boughs. 

Dipped in the fount that purifies the heart ! 
Unsullied Dian ! breathe our holiest vows ! 

Storm-crowned Poseidon ! to the imperial mart 
Thou bearst the Median gems. 
And loftiest Asian diadems. 
And o'er thy billowy world we pour our praise ! 
Uranian Venus ! let the Vesper rays 



CANTO II.] OF POMP K II. 85 

Of thy beatitude around us float and dwell, 

Till thine ethereal loveliness o'ercomes 
The stains and shadows of thy mocker here, 
And high the vine-god's song may swell 

Among the shrines of Vesta's hallowed home 
Without a following tear ; 
And Isis' mystic rites may thrill 
The soul with Plato's most celestial vision, 

And Pallas in her grandeur fill 
The heart of Ceres with her mind elysian ! 

Blesser with bounty, hail ! 
What but thy gifts can mortals offer thee ? 

Smile on the banquet and the song and tale 
The Dionysius breathes to thy divinity ! 

Hail, all ye gods of air, earth, wave and wind ! 
Ye oceans from the streams of human mind ! 

With spotless garments and unsandalled feet. 
Purified bodies and undaring souls. 

We the Pantheon tread ! oh, meet. 
Meet your adorers ! lo ! the incense rolls 
Along Corinthian column? and wrought roof. 

Like Manes wandering o'er the fields of bliss ! 
Chill not our worship with a stern reproof! 
Hail, all ye gods ! we worship with a kiss ! 



yt» THE LAST NIGHT [cANTO IT. 

Chorus. — From shore and sea and vale and mountain. 
Hail ye divinities of weal or woe ! 

Olympus, Ida, grotto, fountain, — 
We in your Pantheon kneel — around your altars bow ! 

Thro' the bronze gates, sculptured with legends feigned 
Of the thcocrasies, the pageant swept, 
A thousand feet dancing the song, and paused 
Around the shrines they dragged the victims up. 
Then bending from Jove's altar to the east. 
The Pontiff raised the golden chalice, crowned 
With wine unmingled, and, amid the shower (--) 
Of green herbs, myrrh, obelia and vine leaves 
Poured out the brimmed libation on the head 
Of the awaiting sacrifice, from flocks 
Chosen for beauty, and young quickening life. 
Then with a laurel branch, he sprinkled all. 
Circling the altar thrice ; the heralds, then, 
Cried, " Who is here ?" and all the multitudes 
Like billoW'S answered deep, " Many and good !" 
" Breathe not the words of omen !" " Lo ! we stand 
Like Harpocrates in the vestibule !" 
The High Priest, mid the wreathing incense, raised 
The prayer ; the augur, with his wand, marked out 



CANTO II.] OFPOMPEII. B7 

The heavens ; the aruspices, with eyes of av*'e 

Behind the slayers of the sacrifice 

Stood gazing on the victims. " Hath no spot. 

No arrow from the Huntress' bow or dart 

Of Pythius stained the offering '" said the priest. 

" 'Tis fair and perfect, and unblemislied stands 

To give its body to the Harvest Queen 

And all the gods ! — We pour into its ear 

The holy water — yet it doth not nod ! 

We bend the neck — it struggles for the flight ! 

Dismal presages ! omens of despair !" 

The Pontiff quai!ed, not in the dread of gods, 

(His sole divinity was his own power) 

But fear of superstition's evil thought, 

As from the fluctuating host arose 

A smothered shriek of terror ; and. in tones 

Quick, stern, and deep as the exploded bolt, 

Commanded " Strike ! the wrath of Jove attends 

The impious delay !" and, hushed as heaven 

When broods the hurricane on cloudy deeps. 

The worshippers stood trembling as they looked, — 

The agonies and ecstasies of fear 

And hope, in stormlike glimpses, shadowing o'er 

The broken waves of faces — on the shrine, 

And saw the axe of the cultrarius fall ! 



1*^8 T H E L A S T N I G H T [cANTO II. 

Maddened and bleeding, yet not slain, the ram 
P'lung back his twisted horns — sent up a sound 
Of anguish, and in phrenzy on the air 
Springing, in his fierce death throes, fell amidst 
Dismayed adorers and gasped out his life. 
Shrieks o'er the panting silence rose and filled 
The temple, and in horror shrunk the throng. 
As o'er the accursed rites pale Nemesis, 
Leading the Destinies, had come to blast 
The sacrifice with sacrilege ; but now 
The Pontiff's voice, bidding his lictors quell 
The tumult, called another victim up. 
And stillness brooded o'er the stricken crowd. 
Gashing the lifted neck, the popa? held 
The brazen ewers beneath the bubbling blood. 
And white-robed flamens bade the people note 
The happiest augury — without a sigh 
Or tremor, seen or heard, the victim died. 
Then flayed and opened they the offering, 
Lifting the vitals on their weapons' points. 
With writhing brows, pale lips and ashen checks. 
And failing hearts, in horror's panic voice. 
The aruspices proclaimed the prodigies. 
" The entrails palpitate — the liver's lobes 
Are withered, and the heart hath shrivelled up !" 



CANTO II,] O F r O M V K 1 1. S9 

Groans rose from living surges round ; yet loud 
The High Priest uttered — " Lay them on the fire !'' 
'Twas done ; and wine and oil poured amply o'er. 
And still the sacrificer wildly cried — 
" Woe unto all ! the wandering fires hiss up 
Through the black vapors — lapping o'er the tlesii 
They burn not, but abandon ! ashes fill 
The temple, whirled upon the wind that waves 
The flame through smothering clouds, towards the Mount, 
That, since first light, hath hurled its lava forth ! 
Hark ! the wild thunder bursts upon the right ! 
Ravens and vultures past us on the left ! 
Fly, votaries ! from the wrath of heaven, oh fiy ! 
The Vestals shriek, the sacred fire is dead ! 
The gods deny our prayers ! fly to your homes !'" 
From the Pantheon struggled the vast throng. 
And rushed dismayed unto their household hearths. 
While from Vesuvius swelled a pyramid 
Of smoke streaked o'er with gory flame, and sounds, 
Like voices howling curses deep in earth* 
From its abysses rose, and ashes fell 
Through the thick panting air in burning clouds. 
All save the haughty Pontiff, mocking fear, 
Had flown the gorgeous Pantheon, but he sate 
On the high altar, mid the trophied pomp 
Vi 



yO T H K L A is T M G H T [CANTO II. 

Of priceless consecrations to the gods. 
Breathing his scorn and imprecations on 
The dastard people and the blasted rites, 
When, heaving as on billows, while a moan 
Passed o'er the statues, the proud temple swayed 
As 'twere an evening cloud, from side to side, 
Rocking beneath the earthquake that convulsed 
Sea, shore and mountain, at its hollow voice, 
Hurled into ruin ; and his lips yet glowed 
With execrations on the sacrifice. 
When from its pedestal, bending with brow 
Of vengeance and fixed lips that almost spake, 
Jove's giant image fell and crushed to earth 
The Thunderer's mocker in his temple home ! 

Like an earth-shadowing cypress, o'er the skies 
Lifting its labyrinth of leaves, the boughs 
Of molten brass, the giant trunk of flame, 
The breath of the volcano's Titan heart 
Hung in the heavens ; and every maddened pulse 
Of the vast mountuiu's earthquake bosom hurled 
Its vengeance on the earth that gasped beneath. 
Yet mortals, then, as now, deemed deities 
The essence of men's passions — swayed like leaves. 
Bv orison or chanted hvmn, from deeds, 



CANTO II.] OF I'OMPEII. 01 

Ere time had birth, appointed. So, within 
Their secret chambers and the silent groves. 
While Ruin's eye from the red living bolt 
Glanced with a glare of scorn upon their rites, 
The doomed idolaters, abashed yet fain 
To win redemption from suspended wrath, 
Round their Penates cowered, while magians eamr. 
Sybils and sorcerers, to mock the mind 
With mystic divinations, and reveal. 
What prophets need not show, folly and guilt. 
To avert the threated vengeance, Egypt's spells. 
Muttered in sounds the utterer made not speech, 
By magic incantations wrought, called up 
Rarth demons to unfold the future's deeds. 

THE SYBIL'S INVOCATION. 

From the hill forest's gloom. 
Where the lemures dwell ; 

From the depth of the tomb, 
Whence the soul parts to hell ; 
From the dim caves of death 
Where the coil'd serpent sleeps not. 

And the lone deadly heath 
Where the night spirit weeps not ; 
1^' 



*J2 THK LAST NIUUT [cANTO II, 

From the shore where the wreck Ues, 
And the surge o'er the dead ; 

From the heart of the dark skies. 
Where the tempest is bred ; ^ 

Ye Demigods, hear ! 
Ye pale shadows, ascend ! 
And ye demons, appear ! 
To drink the bann'd cup ere the weird rites shall end ! 

From the ocean deeps come, 
Where the coral groves glimmer. 
In your trailed robes of gloom, 
Making terror's face dimmer ; 

From the crag-pass ol slaughter. 
On the voiced air of death. 

Come, shed o'er your daughter 
Your oracle breath ! 

On the night vapor stealing 
From the marsh o'er the mountain ; 

On the bland air revealing 
No doom by the fountain ; 
Ye Demigods, come ! 
Ye pale shadows, ascend ! 
And ye demons, from gloom ! 
To df ink the bann'd cup ere the weird rites shall end I 



f'ANTO II.] I) F POMPEII 93 

Be ye blest or accursed, 
Be ye famished or sated, 

In pale Orcus the worst, 
In Elysium the fated ; 

If ye roam by the shore 
Which ye never may leave. 

Or in nectar adore 
Where ye never can grieve ; 

Be ye gross and malign 
Or elysian as air — 

Come forth and divine 
What the future may bear ! \ 

Ye Demigods, come ! 
Ye pale shadows ascend.' 
And ye demons from gloom! 
To drink the bann'd cup ere the weird rites shall end ! 

Amid the darkened necromantic haunts 
Of worse fiends than the evoked, no voice replied. 
Then, moulding edigies to suit her hate. 
And dropping venom in each pictured pore. 
The Sybil, with dishevelled serpent locks. 
And Lamian features, bade the fiend of fire 
Open the ritual of hell, and read 
Revealings of the Destinies — and then. 



94 T II i: L A S T M G H T [CANTO II. 

She drank from the bann'd skullcup poison draughts. 
Pledging the damned ! yet silence looked reply. 

And each Promethean divination brought (^ *) 
Nor shadow nor response ; the mirrored glass 
Returned no image ; the drowned ring sent up 
No echo ; whirling gusts effaced the forms 
Of letters writ in ashes ; magic gems 
No longer kept their power ; the daphne burned 
Witho.ut a sound ; and every poison herb, 
Though with unearthly skill distilled, no more, 
Like Nessus' robe and wild Medea's gift. 
Dispersed the agonies of maniac deaths. 

Restless in doubt, the human mind hath sought 
Knowledge in every hoar of time, through tears. 
Wasting and want and haggard solitude, 
Anguish and madness ; hovering o'er the verge 
Of the eternal ocean, from whose depths 
Earth's ghastly spectres rise to mock at hope, 
The spirit follows through forbidden paths 
The meteor of its own vain thought, till death 
Shniuds, palls and sepulchres the throbbing dust. 
Vain were petitions murmured to the gods 
Priapus and Cunina to dissolve 



CANTO II ] OF FOMPEil. 95 

The spells of Fascinators ; the evil eye 

Of the Illyrian or Triballi sent 

Its wonted glance into the trembling breast. 

Possessing, as they feigned, the soul with fiends. 

Vainly, they wore baccharis wreaths — in vain, 

Their jasper, rhamn or laurel amulets 

On brow or bosom hung ! the magi dreamed. 

Scorned thus by demon and by deity, 
In guilt's delirium to Isis' shrine, 
The multitude, beneath thick canopies. 
As dreading the last hope of their despair. 
Bear Pompeii's loveliest virgin (^*) — in the bud 
And perfume of her sinless being doomed 
To perish in the vault of mysteries. 
That evil men, by shedding guiltless blood. 
May startle Fate to speak their doom ! alas ! 
Must Death, from his pale realms of fear, so soon 
Breathe on that beautiful and radiant brow 
And leave it blasted ? on the blossomed lips, 
Whence music gushed in streams of rainbow thought, 
And chill them into breathlessness and gloom ? 
That vermil cheek — those eyes, where thoughts repose. 
Like clustered stars on the blue autumn skies, 
That head of beauty and that heart of love — 



96 T 11 E L A S T NIGH T [cANTO II. 

Oh, must they languish, moulder, and depart. 

Without a sigh, from the sweet earth they loved '. 

When has the bigot, whatsoe'er his crown, (-^) 

Cidaris, mitre, oak or laurel wreath. 

Spared, having power to torture ? when, the slave 

Of superstition slackened in his zeal 

Of loving God by loathing humankind ? 

Weep with the crocodile — embrace the asp — 

Doubt not the avalanche of ages — meet 

The famished wolfs sardonic smile — and sleep 

Beneath the upas — but believe not, man 

E'er yet had mercy when his guilt feared hell ! 

With hurried footfalls o'er the lava walks (^ ^) 
And through the Forum's colonnades, unmarked 
But by quick glances, to the Mount of Flame 
Turning again, the worshippers passed on, 
And the proud temple gates behind them closed. 
Then from the altar of the idol came 
The crowned hierophant, in robes o'erwrought 
With mystic symbols, emblems of a power 
Invisible, yet everywhere supreme, 
As the air that shrouds the glaciers, and, like that. 
Waked to annihilate, by one low voice. 
I lifting his dusky hand, gleaming with gems. 



CANTO II.] o r P <) >I I' E 1 1. 97 

He waved the throng to worship, With hushed lips, 
And, with a gesture, bidding riedphytes 
Come forth, and raise the victini, bound and stretched 
On the Mosaic floor, in horror's arms, 
With a hyaena step, through pillar'd aisles. 
Dim, still and awful, to the vaulted crypt 
Of gloom and most unhallowed sacrifice 
He led the bearers of the victim maid. 
One shuddering farewell — one shriek, that ga\e 
A legion echoes, from her muffled lips 
Gushed ! then in gloom her hyacinthine hair 
Vanished — and from the veiled recesses rose 
The music of the sistrum, (-'') and strange gleams 
Of violet and crimson lights along 
The shrine and statues flitted momently 
And faded ; and mysterious phantoms glanced 
O'er the far skirting corridors, and left 
The awed mind wildcred with a doubting sensd 
Of silence broken by what was not sound, 
Nor breathings of a living heart — ^nor tones* 
Of forest leaves nor lapses of the wind — 
But a dread haunting of a sightless fear 
Of unformed peril — a crushed thought, tliat through 
The twilight dimness of the fane o'erhung 
Gigantic beings of diluvian realms, 

18 



98 T U E L A b T N 1 G II T [CANTO II. 

Voiceless and viewless, yet endowed with might 

To rend the mortal breather of a sigh ! 

Down the chill, dusky granite steps the priest 

Guided the virgin sacrifice ; above, 

The massy and barr'd vault door shut ; and night. 

Shown in its ghastly terrors by wild rays 

Of many tinctured lights, fell on the heart 

Of the devoted, desolated maid. 

Through still descending labyrinths, where coiled 

All loathsome creatures, and dark waters dripped 

With a deep sullen sound like pulses heard 

By captives dying in their dungeon tomb, 

The Egyptian glided hurriedly and still. 

Then o'er a green lagoon, whose festered flood 

Flung back a deathsome glare as the lights sunk 

Upon its sleeping surface stretching far 

Into the floating masses of the gloom. 

They, in a mouldered barque, went silently. 

The plated crocodile, on the earth and pool 

Suspended, ope'd his sluggish jaws and looked 

Upon the priest with fawning earnestness ; 

He gazed upon the victim and passed by. 

And the loathed reptile dreamed of coming feasts. 

Rugged ond spiral grew the pathway ; bats, 

Waving tlie spectre lights, winged throu'j;li the vaults. 



CANTO II.] o r r o m r k i i. QO 

Startled yet welcoming ; and serpents lanced 

Their quivering tongues of venom forth and hissed 

Their salutations ; and the lizards crept 

Along the cold, vv^et ridges of the caves; 

And oft the maiden's agonizing eyes 

Beheld in niches or sarcophagi 

Mortality's abhorred resemblances, 

With folded serpents sculptured overhead: 

And oft the feet of the familiars struck 

Strewn relics of the victims offered here ! 

Winding through tangled passages — her brain 
O'erfraught with the still horror — for no sound 
Lived through the endless caverns — thought and sense 
Of being fled from the doomed maiden's heart, 
Time, mystery and darkness and lone death 
Passed from the trances of her brain, and earth 
And agony and wrong and violence 
Were but the shadows childhood sports withal ! 
She woke amid the gush and hymning voice 
Of fountains and the living gleam of fires, 
And swell of tenderest music ; and beside 
The purple couch of luxury, whereon. 
Free from all bonds save chains of jewelled gold, 



1 00 T H 13 I, A S T N I O H T [cANTO II, 

In a vast chamber, hung with flowers and gems. 
She lay, tlie priest of Isis stood ; — his eye 
No longer storn and chill, his lips no more 
Like sculptured cruelty, but bright and warm 
And moist with mellowest wine ; and o'er his face, 
Late masked in mockeries, the burning light 
Of Passion broke, as thus, with wanton smiles, 
He breathed his heart upon his victim's ear. 
" Thy path to pleasure, like the world's, my love ! 
Was through the empire of pale doubt and pain, 
Where many visions of detested things 
Will consummate in rapture deigned thee here. 
And didst thou think, my queen of loveliness ! 
That by the dastard crowd of Pompeii 
Thou wcrt borne hither that the sacred lips 
Of Isis, parted by thy purest blood, 
Might give responses to fiend-loving fools ? 
The goddess hath a voice — when 1 ordain. 
And, when her mysteries have filled their hearts 
With myriad terrors tp which death is bliss, 
They shall not lack an answer to their quest. 
But this is Love's elysium ; men may seek 
Another by Jove's grace — but this for mc ! 
Be their's eternities of prayer and hymn ! 
But Time and wine and Venus are my gods l^ 



<:a?JTO II.] OF POMPEII, iOl 

" Holy Diana ! hath thine Iris {- ^) come 
To lead me through elysium's myrtle groves ? 
Thanks for the briefest jmngs of death ! my soul 
Blends with the radiance, songs and incense herc 
In rapture, unforgetting earth's dark ills, 
The victim bonds, gloom, terror, madness borne 
Amid the vaulted corridors — deep thanks, 
Chaste Dian ! for the darl that winged me here !" 
Thus she lay whispering faintly while the veins 
Again like violets began to glow 
And Thought from the elysian portals turned 
To shed, once more, its starlight o'er her brow. 
The lips, like rifted sunset clouds, burned o'er 
With beauty, and the sloe-dark eyes, from lids 
Of loveliness o'erarched like rainbows, flashed 
Upon the luxuries of wantonness 
With a delirious brightness ; and she pressed 
Her Peri hand upon her troubled brain 
As dismal memories through all the pomp 
Around her thronged. " Do visions o'er me rush 
Through the ivory gate ? or what is this ? methinks 
The limbs of Vesta pass not Charon's ward — 
Yet bear I them ! and I behold no forrhs 
Like the supreme divinities who dwell 
Bevond the azure curtains of the skies!" 



1 02 THE LAST NIGHT [cANTO IT. 

" Look on thy suppliant worshipper, my love ! 
Thy Saturn, my Osiris, aptly feigned, 
With ilorus and the laughing boy-god, wreathed 
With lotus and charm'd myrtle, must be now 
The only Guardians of our paradise — 
For thou art the voluptuous Paphian Queen, 
And must with kisses be adored ! thy breath 
Is odor — on that fair full bosom sleep 
A thousand loves — those lustrous eyes enchant — 
And the limbs moulded by divinest skill" — 

" Reveal thy speech ! what import bear these words ? 
Dream I, or art thou the hierophant 
Of Isis, who from Mizraim's pyramids 
Broughtst new gods into Latium ? I must err, 
For thou wearst not the countenance that chilled 
My soul, and tyrannized o'er Pompeii's crowd, 
But rather, like earth's faun or satyr fiend, 
Gloatest o'er some revenge for sin unknown !" 
The maiden's lost mind came in all its strength 
And purity, and in the dreadless might 
Of thoughts unsoiled by evil, she resolved 
To match unfriended virtue with the power 
Of Passion in religion's mask beyond 
The liaw's arraignment or the avenger's wrath. 



CANTO II.] or POM Pi: I I. 103 

" Simple as Pyrrha when tlie shattered barque 
Of hoar Deucahon landed from the foam !" 
With blandishments, said Isis' haughty priest. 
•' Knowst thou not, loveliest ! that holy men 
Must never shame their gods by deeds unlike 
Their sacred exploits ? what were deathlessness 
Without delight ? eternity, without 
The ecstasies of woman's winning smile? 
Thy country's hoarest fathers, most for skill 
In council, and unequalled virtue famed, 
In canon and enactment of old law, 
Did consecrate corruption and commit 
Captives to bondage of their tyrant's will, 
And build proud temples for the haunt of shame 
Being but mimes of the Immortals, then. 
As countless births, revered as prodigies. 
And chained Prometheus, shunning their gift, 
To meet their wrath, and mad Lycaon driven 
Into the wild, can testify in tears. 
Why, then, should the weak waiter on the rites 
Of the Omnipotents refrain from joy ? 
Folly must feel his masterdom, when words, 
Called oracles, are bought, but, in ail else, 
The priest was framed for pleasure — and thy smile, 
Hebe of Beauty ! from thy vassal here 



104 THE LAST ^JIGHT [CANTO IK. 

Shall win a better augury than all 

Campania's hecatombs ! — time wastes, my bliss ! 

Speak thou the oracle I shall repeat 

Through Isis' marble lips ! the answer's thine !" 

" Thus be the answer, then, " Ye seek my shrine 
To know the Future and the will of heaven — 
The Past reveals both !" or, if this suit not 
The goddess who doth fold her tissued words 
So Passion may unravel good or ill. 
Thus let the mystic oracle declare : 
" Ye shall pass o'er the Tyrrhene sea in ships 
Laden with virgins, gems and gods, and spoils 
Of a dismembered empire, and a cloud 
Of light shall radiate your ocean path !" 
Breathes not the soul of mystery in this ? (^ *) 

•' Ay, love ! and after his desire or hope 
Each may interpret — veriest oracles 
Must have a myriad meanings — and the voice 
Of Memphian Isis shall, at once, respond 
To the denied apostates ; then, my life ! 
While dotards live on riddles and embrace 
Shadows as did the Thunderer what time 
The ox-eyed empress jealoused of his deeds. 



CANTO ir.] ' OF PO.Ul'iUI. 1W''> 

We at Love's heavenly banquet shall repose 

And drink the ecstacies of mingled hearts ! 

— The sistrum sounds! the sculptured lips shall speak !" 

Exulting thus, the idol minister, 
Pressing the bosom of great Serapis, 
Whose statue by a Doric pillar stood, 
Disclosed a stairway guiding through the shaft 
Unto the altar of the fane, and thence 
Within the hollow image, from whose mouth 
Responses breathed that fitted any deed 
Or sera ; fable was religion's name. 
Up through the open bosom of the God, 
Saying, ('") " The mocker Momus has his jest 
And more, since e'en the Immortal's breast bears no^^ 
A mirror" — passed the priest — and soundlessly 
The dcedal portal, bossed with vine-wreaths, closed. 
That moment, from the flowered and purple couch 
The maiden sprung, through any caverned path, — 
All peril and loathed sights and awful sounds. 
To fly from pomp, pollution and despair. 
Bounding along the tesselated floor, 
She passed the beds of banquet, whose perfume 
From sightless vases stole, and gained the verge 
Of the vast gleaming hall — she met the waves 

14 



/ 



1 OtJ THE LAST NIG 11 T [cANTO II. 

Of black and silent depths that seemed to scowl 

On her vain flight! to every side she flew 

But to encounter granite battlements, 

Coiled serpents, clustered sepulchres, cold clifl's, 

Gigantic sphynxes, towering grim o'er lakes 

Of sulphur, or the dreadful shapes of fiends. 

The gorgeous lights grew shadowy, and stained clouds 

Of vapor floated o'er the pillared roof, 

Taking all forms of terror ; and low sighs 

And muttered dirges from the waters stole 

Along the arches ; and through all the vaults, 

Into a thousand wailing echoes rent, 

A shriek, loud, quick and full of agonies, 

Burst from the deep foundations of the fane. 

With steps like earliest childhood's, to her couch 

The maiden faltered back, and there, with soul 

Too overfraught for wished unconsciousness, 

Gasping her breath, she listened ! Sullen sounds 

Wandered along the temple aisles above ; 

Then came the clang of cymbals and sti-ange words 

Uttered amid the far-off" music's swell : 

And the prostrated multitudes, like woods 

Hung with the leaves of autumn, stirred ; then fell 

A silence when the heart was heard — a pause — 

When ardent hope became an agony : 



C.WTO II. j OP POMPEII. 107 

And parted lips and panting pulses — eyes 

Wild with their watchings, brows with beaded dews 

Of expectation chilled and fevered — all 

The shaken and half lifted frame — declared 

The moment of the oracle had come ! 

A sceptre to the hand of Isis leapt 

And waved ; and then the deep voice of the priest 

Uttered the maiden's answer, and the fall 

Of many quickened steps like whispers pass'd 

Along the columned aisles and vestibule. 

None deemed, the maiden in the earthquake's groan 

And the volcano's thunder voice had heard 

The hastening doom, and clothed it in dark words, 

The blinded victims never could discern ; 

But to the bosom of their guilt again 

They passed, dreaming of victories and spoils ! 

" Gone !" said the priest, descending — " Serapis ! 
Pardon and thanks I crave and give thee, God ! 
— Gone to their phantom banquet with glad hearts — 
Such is the bliss of superstition's creed ! 
And they will glory o'er their fellows now, 
Deeming themselves the temples of the gods ! 
Brimmed with revealings of divinity ! 
But Folly wafts us food, and we should laud 



108 THE LAST MOIIT [cANTO II. 

Tlic victim of night visionries who parts 
With virgin gold for fabled miracles f 
But that thy loveliness might peril prayers 
And change the rites to riots ill esteemed, 
Thou shouldst have been a pythoness, my love ! 
What shadow veils thy vestal brow ? thou art 
My bride, and pleasure waits upon thee here — 
Let the pure wine awake thy thoughts to mirth !'' 

" Mirth at the altar which thou mockst wdth jeers ! 
Mirth in thy holy ministries, proud priest ! 
It fits thee not — and less thine evil speech 
To Lajlius' child, who, while her father waits 
On royal Titus in imperial Rome, 
Betrayed, it seems, by thy fit parasites, 
Was hither borne by Pompeii's maddened throng, 
Whom thy vile minions goaded to the deed, 
A victim, not to Isis, but to thee ! 
Beware, thou atheist pontitV! the shocked world 
Hath had and shall, through uncreated time. 
Have mitred scorners, who blaspheme the heavens. 
Mocking the faith with which they manacle 
The hearts that would deny yet dare not — like 
Thee, mocker of the idol thou dost serve ! 
Yet doubt not — years arc but the viewless })ath 



CANTO II.] OF POM Pi: I I. H^*<^ 

Of the avenging Deity '• the earth, 

Elysium, Orcus, the sweet pleiades, 

The weeping stars, the depths of ocean swept 

By typhon tossing billows to the heavens — 

All live but in the breath of one Supreme, 

Whose heart inspires the universe — whose soul 

Is Immortality ! and 'neath His throne 

I kneel and wrap around my mortal fears 

The robe of His immortal purity, 

Bidding thee. Priest ! e'en in thy purple home. 

Tremble amid thy thoughts of sacrilege !" 

" lo Athena ! Pallas hath no gift 
To rival thine, my loveliest ! thy words, 
Like pungent herbs before the banquet, give 
A charm, a flavor, an Apician zest 
To the deferred delight that dawns in tears. 
Coy maidenhood ! the sage in all his lore 
Must learn the science of awaking bhss 
From thee, supremely skilled in scorpion taunt 
And torture, which prelude long lingering bliss. 
Bui the wine blushes. Love ! to meet thy lip — 
Lo ! how it kisses the crowned cup and smiles ! 
Thou wouldst not leave me — though thy free discourse 
Argues but ill — for yon dim vaults, greened o'er 



110 TH BLAST NIGHT [CANTO II. 

By the dead dampness, where cold serpents trail 

And cockatrices brood, and livid asps 

Madden with unspent poison ! thou hast seen 

A portion of the terrors — 'tis thy choice 

To dwell with love and luxury and joy, 

Or have a farther knowledge — come, love ! come ! 

The unfurrowed features of a priest may charm 

Thy dainty spirit well as dead men's smiles 

Sardonic, and the gleam of breathless flesh ! 

Are crimson pillows of the cygnet down 

Less fitting thy desire than jagged rocks 

Beetling o'er naptha fires and festered floods? 

Or yon tapestried couch, thou will desert, 

Less to thy wish than wanderings through the aisles 

Of haunted charnel labyrinths beyond ? 

Come, thou art wiser ! Passion is my god 

First worshipped — next. Revenge ! — my arms are chilled 

By cold embraces of the goddess — come !" 

" Demon ! thy power is o'er me — none behold — 
The banded legions could not rescue me — 
Yet 1 scorn, loathe, dare, trample thee, proud priest ! 
What art thou but corrupted clay beneath 
The furnace ? but the loathsome bird that feasts 
On desolation's relics ? — oh, there comes 



CANTO II.] OFPOMPEII. Ill 

A glad sound on mine ear — a triumph sound — 
The deep earth-hymn of ruin ! hark ! it swirls 
Along the abysses of the hills and seas, 
Lifting the mountains with its breath — it comes ! 
Ye manes ol mine ancestors ! it comes !" 

" What, scorner ! dost thou think to cheat my skill 
With thy Trophonian dreams, when I have clasped 
Delusions to my bosom sinc6 my birth? 
And juggled faith by all circean arts ? 
I woo no longer ! thou art in my grasp — 
And by the Immortals I contemn ! thou shalt" — 

" It comes ! the temple reels and crashes — Jove ! 
I thank thee ! Vesta ! let me sleep with thee !" 
And on the bosom of the earthquake rocked 
The statues and the pillars, and her brain 
Whirled with the earth's convulsions, as the maid 
Fell by a trembling image and upraised 
A prayer of gratitude ; while through the vaults, 
In fear and ghastly horror, fled the priest, 
Breathing quick curses mid his warning cries 
For succor ; and the obscene birds their wings 
Flapped o'er his pallid face, and reptiles twined 
In folds of knotted venom round his feet. 



1 1 J T II i: L A S T \ I G II T [canto 11. 

Yet on he rushed — the blackened walls around 

Crashing — the spectral lights hurled hissing down 

The cold green waters ; and thick darkness came 

To bury ruin ! Through the arches rent 

And falling on he hurried, and a glance 

Of sunlight down the granite stairway came 

Like a winged spirit to direct him on. 

The secret door of the adytum swung 

Wide, and he hailed the flamens that above 

Hastened his flight — when o'er the marble stair 

The Nubian pillars of the chancel roof, 

Thrown by the earthquake o'er the altar, crashed 

Through shrines of gems and gold, mosaic floor 

And beams of choicest cedar, and around 

The priest of Isis piled a sepulchre 

Amid the trophies of his temple, where 

His living heart, crushed by despairing thoughts. 

Found burial till the hour of havoc came ! 

Buttress and arch, pillar and image fell. 
And the green waters of the gloom were fiUetl 
With hoarded treasures — vainly coirered up. 
The maiden rose upon the quaking earth, 
And, like the thoughts of parted love in youth. 
Hushed from the mitred violator's home. 



CANTO II.] O F J' O M P L I I. 113 

Through the felt darkness of the labyrinth. 

On sculptured capitals and heads of gods 

She passed the dismal waves, and trident tongues 

Hissed after her amid the turbid foam. 

She passed the beamless corridors and fled 

Along a gorgeous banquet hall, o'erstrewn 

With porphyry tables, alabaster lamps, 

Half quenched, and shattered wine cups of gemm'd gold. 

She grasped a flickering altar-light and on 

Hurried, casting on dolesome objects round, 

And nameless things of horror, glances wild 

With terror and deep loathing ; the death-dews 

Upon the walls, green with the deadly moss. 

Trailed in thick streams, and o'er her sinking heart 

Breathed the cold midnight of the sepulchre ; 

And from the shapeless shadows growing up, 

The startled spirit wrought the forms of fiends, 

Or, worse, pursuers charged to hale her back. 

The virgin flies along a corridor 
Ampler, and living with the daylight air ; 
And far, upon its boundary, she discerns 
An open portal, and a rosebeam gush 
Of radiance streams upon the threshold stone. 
Like Delphi's Pythia in her maniac mood, 

1.5 



114 THELASTNIGUT [cANTO II. 

She leaves the vaults of Isis, hurls aside 

The tissued curtains o'er the portal hung, 

And springs, bewildered yet exulting, through 

Voluptuous chambers, frescoed o'er with scenes 

Of earthly Passion in its last excess, 

Where the mind melts in odor, and the heart 

Pants in the fever of the earthborn Love. 

" Oh watching Dian ! whither am I led ? 

These mellowed lamps that burn in fragrant nard — 

These violet couches — wanton pictures — shrines 

Of chrysolite with myrtle wreaths o'erhung, 

And jewelled girdles loosened — what is this 

But Paphian Venus' temple ? oh, the cells 

Of Isis are elysium to the bowers 

Of Pompeii's pandemic queen !" Away 

She turned to hasten, when a strangled shriek 

From the recess before her came, and sounds 

Of fear and strife and hate and agony 

Rose indistinct yet with intensest strength. 

The maiden's only path of flight lay there. 

She drew aside the curtain, and with hair 

Tangled and drenched with vault dews, haggard lace 

And eyes dilated, like a sybil, stood, 

A moment, in the very bower of lust, 

Glaring in terror on two forms that strove. 



C.iNTO II ] O F I' O M P E I I. 115 

And one with woman's weakness ; as she gazed, 

The vanished blood, grief, shame and failing power 

Had driven to the fainting heart, came back. 

And, with a quick renewal of lost hope. 

Casting the other, who with palsied thought 

Gazed on the fearful visitor, aside, 

The feeb'er being rushed along the aisles, 

With ashen face and raiment soiled and torn. 

The maiden traced the fugitive, and ere 

The blood, now at the heart, might reach the brow. 

They stood together 'neath the open skies. 

*' The Savior for thy service bless thee, maid !" 

'Twas Mariamne — from the loathed embrace 

Of Diomede escaped — that quickly spake. 

" 1 cannot ask nor answer now — but fly 

With me, for peril's look proclaims thee pure ! 

Quick, maiden ! Diomede will never spare — 

Yet Mariamne once again is free I 

It should be noontide ; but a livid gloom 

Palls all things, and a ghastliness, nor beam 

Nor blackness, wraps our flight and bodes an eve 

The workers of all evil, in their pride, 

Nor dread nor dream of! Pansa! heaven in love 

Keep thy unfaltering thoughts beneath the wings 



llti THE LAST MGIIT [CANTO II. 

Of cherubim, and clothe thy heart with strength 
To foil the fiend that dares or tempts to sin — 
Where'er thou art ! — we shall not fail to meet, 
For all shall be abroad, and earth and skies 
And waters shall commingle ere sun sinks. 
Away ! sweet maiden ! — now the Cyprian's fane — 
The equestrian Forum — the Praetorians' tower — 
Are passed ; and mid the crowded huts, that lie 
Beneath the amphitheatre, we rest 
Till the deep justice of Jehovah comes !" 

"Art thou a Heretic?" the maiden said. 

" 1 was a Hebrew and a princess — now 
I am a Christian and a captive ! come — 
This garb and guise of thine declare, methinks, 
Some mysteries of thy country's deities — 
This day, thou shalt not fail to learn of mine !" 
She breathed a strange word and a shrivelled hand 
Unbarred a low dark postern, and a face, 
Darkened and harrowed by the toils and thoughts 
And changes of exceeding years, looked forth. 
The melancholy shadow of a smile 
And the sad echo of a broken voice 



CANTO II.] OF POMPEII, 117 

Gave welcome to the wanderers ; and amid 
The solemn stillness of their refuge fell 
From the pale lips of persecuted faith 
Full many a history of the martyrdoms. 

The games of life go on ! Madness and mirth, 
Triumph and tears, the holydays of youth. 
The apathy of stricken age, the pride 
Of intellect and prostrated purposes, 
Rapture and anguish, poverty and pomp, 
And glory and the tomb — like rivals, crowd 
Along the isthmus of our being, doomed 
To vanish momently in billowy gloom ! 
The dewlight of the morn in storm departs ; 
The moonbeams strewing rifted clouds, like smiles 
Breathed from the bosom of Divinity, 
Sink ere the daybeam in the tempest's rack ; 
Yet on o'er buried centuries — the dead dust 
Of ages — once like the starred heavens inspired 
By myriad passions, dreaming miracles. 
And winged conceptions infinite as air — 
Time, the triumpher, in his trophied car, 
Moves sternly, trampling ardent hearts to earth. 
Oh, diademed Hypocrisies ! budding Bliss, 
The mildew sears — sky-soaring Hope, that dies 



118 TMKLiAST NIGHT [cANTO II- 

In its birth moment — Love, which on its shrine 
Of incense perishes — and Fame, that drinks 
The bane of human breath and falls alone ! 
The same arena, judges, wrestlers, crown — 
The same brief transport and unsolaced doom — 
First, madness, and then vanity — the world 
Must be, till time is quenched, what it hath been, 
The bounded circle of chained thought, trod down 
By nations hastening into nothingness, 
Echoing the groans of Pain's ten thousand years, 
And drenched by tears that find no comforter ! 

With livid clouds of ashes, lava hail, 
And furnace cinders all the air was filled ; 
And through the bosom of Vesuvius passed 
Groans as of earth-gods in their endless death, 
And giant writhings, crushing the earth's heart ; 
And through the tossing vapors, mingling flame 
And cavern gloom, toward the Evening Isles 
So loved by ancient sage and patriot bard, 
From the passed zenith rolled the gory sun. 
Like the ailanthus tree of old Cathay, 
Whose boughs, hoar legends say, bloom in the stars. 
The deep smoke of o'erhanging ruin whirled 
From the volcano's pinnacle, and flung 



CANTO II.] O F P O M P E 1 1. 1 11> 

Its branches over nations, scattering death. 

The Appenines, looking the wild wrath and awe 

Their woods and precipices took, upraised 

Their brows of terror and magnificence, 

On their eternal thrones watching the throes 

Of the convulsed abysses ; from the crags 

The seared and shivering forests bent and moaned, 

As o'er them flew the torrid blast of fate ; 

And, as the molten rocks and mines began 

To pour their broad deep masses from the height. 

Vast trunks of cypress and of cedar stood 

Charred, stark and trembling, and the castelled cliffs 

Burst like a myriad thunders, while the flood 

Of desolation, o'er their crashing wrecks, 

Tow'rd Herculaneum, gleaming horror, rolled. 

Yet men repented not of foregone crime. 
Denied them not their wonted festivals, 
Their pomp of garniture and banquet mirth. 
Tornado, pestilence, earthquake and v^ar. 
Awe not the criminal inured to guilt ; 
So the barbed poison arrow flies his heart, 
His pageants and night orgies brighter glow — 
Though death sighs float along the wine cups brimmed 
With nectar mockinof all calamities. 



12U T 1£ E L A S T iX I O II T [cANTO II. 

From the Basilicae the Praetor passed, 
(Thither, when foiled in lust, to wreak his wrath 
On guiltlessness and guilt alike, he went) 
Leaving his tyrant judgments, in a voice 
Of jeering merriment pronounced, to fall 
On less offending breakers of the law. 
Prostrate upon his path, a mother cried, 
" Spare, O Proconsul ! spare my guiltless child ! 
He walked not with conspirators — spake not 
To leaders of sedition — spare him, judge ! 
He hath no father — and is all to me !" 

" The hordes of Rasmus may learn wisdom, then. 
And virtue and refinement from his speech — 
For he is banished — I reverse no doom !" 
The lictors' fasces o'er the supplicant 
In haughty scorn went on. Another voice 
Assailed the Praetor: " To a cruel lord 
The quaestor sold my husband for the tax 
Ye laid upon our thatched hut — and he groans 
In bondage, while his famished children die !" 

" Why am 1 thus benetted on my way '. 
I serve the senate and inflict their laws. 
What is 't to me who thralls or suffers thrall / 
Let him atone ! Why should he scorn to toil V 



CANTO II.] OF POMPEII. 121 

" Justice, Lord Governor !" a third implored. 
" Thy favorite Vibius hath cast deep shame 
Upon my household and my daughter's wrongs 
Exact redress ; not more than this from Rome 
Banished the Tarquins and decemviri !" 

" Ha ! dost thou threat, Plebeian ? Vibius hears 
Thy fierce arraignment with a smile — no doubt. 
Some twilight kisses in the summer glade — 
Pressed palms — clasped bosoms — dewy lips — no more ! 
And thou wouldst mock the majesty of law, 
And wed thy base condition with the blood 
Of my Patrician friend ! away with thee ! 
Methinks, Vesuvian fume hath filled the brains 
Of all the city — and the boiling earth 
Bubbled its yeast into your grovelling hearts. 
On, Lictors ! on — we tarry from the feast !" 

In robes of white, festooned by mingled flowers, 
And ivy wreaths or crowns of amethyst, 
The Praetor's guests, on crimson couches, lay 
Around the ivory tables, on wliich stood 
A silver shrine and images of gods. 
Pictures — the prodigies of perfect skill — 
Hung round the hall of banquet, and to men, 
10 



12*<i THE LAST NICHT [cANTO II. 

The imitators of divinities, 

Made venial every vice. In plenitude 

Of power and treachery, their holiest Jove, 

Masked to dishonor and betray, achieved 

Shame's triumphs, and the vi^anton canvass lived 

With My con's impure thought (=") ; there Bacchus stood. 

Gloating o'er lozelries and revel routs. 

As Zeuxis drew? the king of catamites ; 

Venus, the earth-born, mid voluptuous nymphs. 

Reclined on myrtle beds w^ith swimming eyes, 

And sunbeam lips with morn dews moist, and swell 

Of bosom far too beautiful, and limbs 

Wantoning mid flowers, that veiled them not ! and fame 

For matchless charm of genius here had shrined 

Parrhasius' name ! and Passion's maddening heart 

Burned o'er the walls, and rival statues stood 

Beneath ; and there the last wild feast was held 

That e'er was bought by Pompeii's toil and tears. 

The kneeling slaves in goblets wrought from gems 
Served acrid wine — on gold plate, bitter herbs 
To zest the appetite ; and, glancing up 
His haughty eyes, burning with hate and scorn. 
Chafed Diomede upon his vassals flung 
The venom of his darkly brooding mind. 



CANTO II.] OF POMPEII. 123 

" Be thy locks shorn as fits thine o^ce, slave ! 

Or 1 may brand the theta on thy brow (") 

Less undefined, and make the dast thy food ! 

Campanian servitude, methinks, outgrows 

All wantonness ; — and, Midas ! thou art skilled, 

I hear in tintinnaculating verse, 

And lispest snatches of philosophy ! 

Be master of thy safety ! I may lose 

A pampered slave ere long — or, at the best, 

The tintinnaculus may shame thy clink ! (^') 

— Be merry, friends ! — what tidings from the throne ? 

Ye have beheld the Temple of the Peace 

Filled with the spoils of rebel Jews, where all 

Treasure their gold and gems — a trophied fane ! 

The gorgeous fabric is a coffer ! Rome, 

The mistress of earth's glories and delights, 

Hath few rings now e'en on patrician hands. 

What think ye, then ? a sackcloth skeleton 

Wanders and mutters on the Palatine 

That what he calls Jehovah's wrath will burst, 

And in thick blackness bury all this pomp, — 

Making Earth's Mistress a stark mendicant !" 

Loud laughed the parasites, and wanton gibes 

Were cast on Jew and Gentile ; then the feast 

Of rarest luxuries before them glowed. 



124 T H E L A S T N 1 G H T [CANTO II. 

And, (bright libations poured to Vesta first) 

The beaded wine was quaffed from goblets brimm'd. 

" Oh, 1 forget !" said Diomede, the light 

Of the delirious revel in his eyes, 

As in the opal radiance of the cup 

They glowed, and glanced, with an exulting pride, 

Midst costliest viands from the mead and main — 

" The fairest sport awaits us ere the games ! 

In the Campanian legion at the siege 

Of that black Golgotha the traitors called 

Jerusalem, a soldier served with skill 

Whom Titus made decurion : him the plague 

Of the new Heresy and Love, at once, 

Infected ; and, abandoning the host. 

He sought elyi.ium in the caverns here, 

Till Thraso found his philosophic haunt, 

Where with his Hebrew Paphian he was wont 

In hermit guise to play the liberal. 

He dies to-day ; but for the present mirth 

His tongue may vibrate. — Ho ! — The Nazarene !" 

The slaves led Pansa from the portico 
Fettered yet fearless, for the time of dread 
Had passed from him, and in his hopeless cell 
The Paraclete had shadowed o'er his soul 



CANTO II.] OF POMPEII. 125 

And panoplied his heart to dare his doom. 
Thus, as he entered, loud the Praetor spake. 
" Hail, Gladiator ! did thy felon god, 
Thy scourged and crucified divinity 
Instruct thee in the sabre's use against 
The shaggy monarch of Numidian hills 1 
Art thou argute and apt to lunge and fence, 
Adroit and firm of nerve to meet or shun 
The tusked embrace of the heroic king ? 
Lucania and Calabria have poured out 
Their thousands to behold thy feats to-day ; 
And, gay as bridal banquetters, they throng 
The arcades and the vomitories now 
To weep the Mauretanian's martyrdom — 
For thou, no doubt, wilt triumph and receive 
The twice ten thousand acclamations sent 
To honor thy proud valor, as is meet. 
Oh, thou shalt be anointed like thy Christ, 
And not with vulgar nard by courtesans, 
But ceroma and myron ! owest thou not 
Thanks to the Roman mercy for this care ?" 

" A Roman's Mercy ! every spot of earth 
Your banners have shed plagues on, can attest 
With shrieks what mercy Rome has given earth. 



120 THE LAST NIGHT [CANTO II. 

Yet ye shall never feel the love ye boast 
Until the slaves ye trample, rack and slay, 
After the unanswered vengeance of your vi^ill, 
Shall learn that they are human ■.tnd awake 
To imitate the mercy of their lords ! 
Perchance — 'twas in thy native land — I know 
Thee and thy fathers, Praetor ! though thou sitst 
In pride of judgment now — thine ancestors 
Were suttlers of the Carthagenian camp, 
When mine called freedom to the sacred Mount : 
Thou mayst have heard the tale of Sicily, 
Or read that Spartacus withstood the hosts — '" 

" Ay, traitor and apostate ! ere an hour 
To gnash thy perjured tongue !" said Diomedc. 
Dreading his victim's speech, for he had lived 
In terror of the knowledge of his birth. 
Yet foaming curses. " Ay, a million died 
'* In fit atonement of their rebel crime ?" 

"Crime? that the name of Liberty should be 
The burning heart's perpetuated curse ! 
Oh, what can thrive in thraldom but revenge ? 
The thong, the goad, the brand of shame — the sense 
Of ignominy, dreading to uplift 



CANTO II.] OF POMPEII. 127 

Its startled eye — what should they bring ? and what 

Must be the fruits of such a poison tree f 

Condition is but chance, and none are born 

^V iih nnanacles upon their Umbs ! most crimes 

Corrupted power makes such, and men submit 

Because tiieir vital veins have wrapt the chain." 

" Now by the sceptred Three who rule the shades ! 

Can his own heretics arraign his doom? 

Such uttered doctrines would convulse the world. 

And even here shall not be spoken — cease ! 

Thou cursed Christian ! wouldst thou rouse my slaves ?" 

" No realm of earth is slavery's — I would bid 
The dust be spirit, and the brute be man ! 
I came not hither by my will — I am 
Thy victim, not thy vassal — and if Truth 
Offends, command thy serfs to bear me hence ! 
But here — and in the arena — thought and speech 
Are mine ; and from my country and my faith 
I have not failed to learn the rights of man ! 
From the far hour when vestal Ilia sinned 
And suffered, and Rome's walls were laid in bloody 
Have human hearts had peace, whether among 
Helvetian icehills or the Lybian wastes ? 
Conquest was born of carnage and the spoil 



128 THE LAST NIOHT [CANTOII. 

Of kingdoms to a hydra faction given, 

While sybilline revealments — Numa's thoughts — 

With old religion sanctified the deeds 

Of desolaters of the shuddering earth. 

Scarce e'en for hours through all Rome's centuries 

Hath the caducous met the eye of day, (^*) 

Or the ancilia idle in the fane 

Of the fiend-god, whose herald is despair, 

Hung: but far gleaming in the torrid sun 

Mid standards floating to the winds of heaven, 

On all the earth have cast the plagues of hell. 

Boundless, perpetual and almighty Fear 

Hath ever been your God of gods — rocks, caves, 

Woods, grottoes, lakes and mountains are the realms 

Of Dis or Jupiter's elysian fields. 

And wisely named the sophist and the bard 

The floods of fabled Erebus — for Rome 

Baptized her sons in Phlegethons of blood, 

Cheering war vigils with Cocyti songs. 

Yon, by the Tyrrhene waters, on whose shores 

The banished Scipio died in solitude ; 

The tyrant raised his hundred banquet halls, ('*) 

Tritoli's stews and Baias's palaces ; 

The cannibal patrician daily slew 

Captives to feed the lampreys of his lake — ; 



«• \NTO II.] OP POMPEII. 



129 



And Rome's all-daring Orator, proscribed 
By princely friendship in his peril, 'neath 
Antony's vengeance fell, a martyr — ; there, 
The astute creators of your creed have feigned 
Your mortal hell and heaven — in Cumae's caves, — 
(Where dwelt Deiphobe, as in the wilds 
That skirt the Erythraean, tasking faith, 
Heirophila abode and muttered spells — ) 
And Puteoli's naptha mines — amid 
The beautiful Pausylipo, whose waves 
And woods in sweet airs and fair suns rejoice : 
And maniac yells of gorgon sybils are 
Elysium oracles, and Zephyr's voice 
The music of the blest ; and loftiest minds 
Worship in show impostures they disdain, 
The phantoms of the fashion, that their spoil 
May be the richest booty. — What reck they. 
The masters of men's minds, who guides the spheres ? 
A myriad gods or none to them are one. 
For all are nothing but fear's phantasies. 
Sinnis or Sciron less obeyed earth's laws 
Than they the edicts of almighty Jove. 
The proud Aloides taught the souls of such — 
They would quench heaven to win the fame of earth. 
The all-believing, as their priests ordain. 

17 



I ^0 T II K L A S T N I C II T [cANTO H, 

Adore their fiend god through his daughter. — Sin. 

Ye know not Truth in fealty or faith — 

And seas of lustral waters could not cleanse 

Your tear stained and blood sprinkled robes of guilt !'* 

•' By Hercules, the earth-cleaver ! thy bold speech, 
Decurion once and devil caster now ! 
Forebodes disaster to my king of beasts !" 
Said Diomede, beneath a mocking scorn 
Veiling the wrath he could not quell nor speak.. 
«' Am I the patron of thy sole renown ? 
And doth thy creed teach viper thanklessness f 
I do immortalize thy robber skill 
Learned in meet skirmishes with vulture flocks 
And hordes of wolves to win the dead man's gold» 
And in Apollo's image to the knights 
Of Latium and" Apulia thee present. 
Thou art a lion-darer, and needst not 
The famed Lanista's disci pHne to lift 
The wood-king's heart upon thy sabre point, 
For thou hast learned the sleight of fence, no fear,. 
From Galilean trainers, and hast wrought. 
In thy maraudings, miracles of skill ! 
Rejoice in thine ovation, Nazarene ! 
Thou art the Sylla of the games to-day. 



t;\M'« li.j OF p « M I* K II. n^l 

The Samnite inock-fight and tlid chariot racCj 

Myrmillo and the Gaul, the net and mail — 

All shall give place to thee and Nubia's beast. 

And while thy glory soars, sweet Venus wraps 

Her arms around thy love, and sunset melts 

On the pavilion of her soft delight, 

Where she doth wanton in Love's revelries; 

And kisses from her roselight lips reward 

My service in the honor of thy name, 

And fair flowers fan the glowing cheek of bliss !"— 

" Mock on, blood drinker ! Mariamne mocks 
Thee and thy wanton minions, whereso'er 
Beneath the Orcus of your power she dwells. 
Seek not through her dominion o'er my heart ! 
She hears a voice sweeter than Memnon's, feigned 
To breathe daybreak farewells when o'er the blue 
Of lustrous morn Aurora's ^emlight fled ; 
She feels the viewless presende of her God — ' 
Earth has no power upon her stainless soul ! 
Therefore, again, I tell thee Rome shall wail 
For all her havocs, treasons, spoils and plagues; 
Oh, every empire of her vast domains 
Hath its aceldama, where voices howl 
Anathemas the future shall fulfil. 



132 THELASTNICHT [CANTO II. 

All power is venal through her fated realms. 

The rebel's Rubicon o'ersweeps the land, 

And all its waves are blood ! proscription's code. 

Taught by the triumvir, is the only law 

Left by unanswering Csesar unannulled. 

How many ages with their agonies 

Have perished since the people had a choice 

Of their oppressors ? What's the ordeal, now. 

Censors and consuls must endure ? and where 

The simple wreath that stories tested deeds ? 

All the sweet shado wings of old phantasie. 

The enchantments of religion, false and vain. 

But glowing, in its earliest dreams, with love-^ — 

Arion and the dolphin, Orpheus, 

And hymning groves, and awful Dis defied 

By passion in bereavement, daring death, 

The Sungod's pceans o'er the Cyclades, 

The charmed illusions of the Blessed Isles, 

The mystery and rapture of high thought. 

That from the sacred porticoes and banks 

Of beautiful Ilissus poured its light 

O'er Tyber and the haunts of Tusculum — 

All, now, have vanished — and the powers of air. 

Your fathers deemed their witnesses, receive 

From athcis t scoffers of the time defiled 



CANTO IJ.] OF FOVPEII. 133 

Derision ; and emasculated vice 

Gloats over memories e'en Pan might loathe. 

— Breathe not a hope that vengeance w^ill forget ! 

A darker doom, than his whose savage eyes 

Glared from the marshes of Minturnce (^ ^) — comes ; 

A destiny more terrible than his 

Who died blaspheming in corruption's arms, 

Shameless in shame, at Puteoli — lours ! 

The voice of judgment hath pronounced on sin 

Extinction — and the Avengers are abroad ! 

From the Ister and the Rha, the storm-lashed shores 

Of the Codanus and Verginian sea — 

From glacier steep and torrid crag — from vale 

And wilderness — city and waste — shall rush 

Devourers ; and a thousand years shall weep 

In darkness o'er her desolated pomp, 

And thousand times ten thousand vassal hearts 

Live without love and die without regret, 

Boasting their bondage, and in titles won 

By pandering to an earth-fiend's lust, exult, 

And call their shame patrician privilege ! 

The Goth hath trod the citadel ; the Gaul, 

The Scythian and the Vandal and the Hun 

Shall reap the harvest of her ruin ! Time 

Wafts on the terrible revenge — the doom 



J 34 T H K L A S T N I G H T [cANTO II. 

Challenged by centuries of guilt ! — I hear 
The tocsin and the gong — the clarion blast, 
The roar of savage millions in their wrath — 
Barbarian yells like billows broke by rocks — 
And where the sj)lendor of the imperial reign 
Floats now — I see a hoary head o'ercrowned (^*) 
By the three diadems of earth, hell, heaven — 
And the bright land of plenty trod by bands 
Of bandits, famished peasants, coward chiefs — • 
All of Rome buried save the tyranny !" 

"Oh, thou with the Cumeean prophetess 
Hast hiddenly consorted and pored on 
The almagest of Ptolemy till stars 
And meteors have become the ministers 
Of thy distempered fashionings of fate !" 
Sardonic smiles o'er revel's swollen lips 
Passed slowly, and the Praetor's jest had now 
E'en from the venal sycophants small praise ; 
For crime in common natures, once unveiled, 
Startles the practiser, and fear becomes 
His hell, o'ermastering his daunted heart. 
" And thou art thrilled by the sublime, and all 
The grandeur of thy destiny o'ercomes 
Thy sense with its vast radiance ! yet shrink not, 



CANTO II.] OF POMPEII. 135 

Though tliou with Epaphroditus shall hve, 
Empedocles and Barcochab, in fame, (^^) 
Drawn in a prophet's robes and mural crown ! 
My own embraces shall solace the grief 
Of thy rare Hebrew Venus, though thou diest, 
And, if in dungeon thou art yet reserved, 
A conqueror now, to grace the future games. 
To her I will rehearse the tale and laud 
Thy victory — and 'tis hard but beauty sheds 
A guerdon on my service ! — Dost thou smile ?" 

" Ay, that thou talkst of future games, doomed lord ? 
And utlerest thy revenge in mockeries ! 
Yon sun, mid brazen heavens and sulphur clouds, 
Now hastening to the horizon, ne'er shall rise 
On the volcano cities ; palace and shrine. 
The battlemented fortress, festive dome. 
Palaestra, amphitheatre and hall 
Of judgment wrested to the despot's ends — 
The household hearth — the stores of merchandise — 
And many a lofty impious heart shall lie. 
Shrouded and sepulchred in seas of flame, 
Ere morrow breaks, beneath the burning deep. 
And ages shall depart — and meteors glare, 
And constellations vanish in the void 



136 THE LAST NIGHT [CANTO II. 

Of the pale azure — and a thousand times 
Earth's generations perish — ere the beams 
Of morn shall hght the cities of the Dead ! 
Quaff, feast, sing, laugh, exult and mock ! ye eat 
The Lectisternian banquet (* ") — to the dead 
Pour out libations — gorge the appetite — 
Madden the brain — let Phrygian flutes inspire 
Your latest joys — be merry with the storm 
That howls e'en now along the Fire-Mount's depths ! 
For me, the martyr trusts his martyred God ! 
And not for all your grandeur — nor for earth's, 
Would he partake your banquet and your doom !" 

" Away ! away ! slaves ! drag the traitor hence ! 
And with the gladiators in the cells 
Let him await the combat of the beast ! 
My spirit wearies of his raven croak. 
— So, now for better mirth ! and yet the shouts 
Of hurrying multitudes unto the games 
Invoke my presence and the dial shades 
The hour of carnage — do ye cry for blood ? 
By Jove ! ye shall not lack, for never gazed 
Imperial Nero on the sea of flame, 
That surged along the shrieking capitol. 
With such a rapture as my soul shall feel 



CANTO II.] OF POMPEII. liiT' 

To watch the lingering agonies and breathe 

The last deep death sighs and slow muttered groans 

Of that accursed despiser of my power ! 

Come, friends ! the people shall be pampered now. 

One cordial cup to vengeance — then away ! 

The chariot races wait my word — the shouts 

Rise like the roar of ocean o'er the hills, 

And in the ghastly hell light of the mount, 

Beneath whose deeps the Titans groan, the steeds 

Caparisoned upon the towers uprear 

Their heads, struggling to spring upon their course ; 

And yon vast cloud of faces through the gloom 

Looks with a ruthlessness that fits my mood. — 

I mount the Tribune ! let the games begin !'' 



EMJ OF CANTO II. 



18 



THE LAST NIGHT OF FOMPEH. 



CANTO III. 



'Tis night in autumn, and, methinl<.>, the clouds, 

That waft the storms of equinox, along 

The sunset seas of troubled light, uplift 

Their countless shapes of mystery and might, 

On which the watcher of Endymion now 

Not e'en a glimpse of her wan beauty casts, — 

As erst, they rose o'er Athens, when, condemned 

By all profaneness and impure desires, 

The Titan evils of a rebel time, 

The Attic sage, (* •) amid the sobbed farewells 

Of his disciples, drank the hemlock cup. 

His spirit, for his birthage and the men 

That by their deeds blasphemed it, all too pure, 

Shrined in its sanctuary thoughts revealed 

Unto no other in dim heathendom ; 



140 THE I- A ST M G II T [cANTO III. 

And as his calm benign eyes through the folds 
Of the earth brooding tempest saw the realms 
Where immortality to one sole God 
Hymned anthems in felicity of love, 
He blessed the few who dared be just when Hate, 
(Deferred, till from the holy Delian Isle, 
Which neither birth nor death might desecrate. 
The pilgrim barque brought the Theori home), 
Reigned, amid idols, with archdremon power. 
Then, with the gentle sadness of the good, 
His soul forgave the foes that wrought his fate, 
Callias, Anytus and the viper bard 
Famed Aristophanes — and prayed in peace ! 
Thus, casting from his tried and weary heart 
Sorrow and sin, and giving back to earth 
The passions born of dust, the Martyr Sage 
Ascended unto Being's fountain stream 
To meet the mercy he so greatly gave. 

With such a night around me, let me tread, 
In these far years, his path, and clothe my thought 
With a forbearing patience under wrong. 
Neglect, rebuke and ill rewarded toil, 
That so, like the aurelia, I may rise 
From dust, and be a winger of the air ! 



CANTO in.] orPOiMrsii. 141 

Bereavement's lone lamenting tears and gleams 
Cast from the memory of the dead, were all 
The rainbows of my childhood : harsh behest 
And bitter blame begot in solitude 
The mood of melancholy ; shadowed rills 
And forests mantled with fantastic vines 
And peaks the lightning made its home, became 
The accustomed haunts of boyhood that ne'er knew 
In bondage the free sunny thoughts of youth. 
(Hate's serpent tongue hath ever on me shed 
Its poison, and with lidless vigilance 
Storied the trials of the fatherless 
In the dark volume of its deep revenge.) 
Then, with but one in all the world to love, 
I burst the thraldom of my orphan days. 
And wandered forth to live in antique lore ; 
Yet anxious present, pale rememl)rance, cloud^. 
Prophetic gloomed along the deathless page 
And hoarded in my heart their oracles. 
From the magnificence of power, the charm 
Of poesy and visions of old pomp, 
I woke to feel the friendlessness of earth 
And know myself a homeless pilgrim here. 
Then manhood came ; the world stirred round jny way. 
And Time's ambition, eagle-eyed, I saw 
Was man's one worshipped idol, yet I sought 



H2 T II E L A S T N I a H T [cANTO III. 

No fellowship, but shunned the strife that sears 

Youth's bosom with the torch that guides to fame. 

Fame ! 'tis the dew-hour's solitary dream, 

The sighed breath of the midnight, heard alone 

By mocking phantoms whose reply is — death ! 

Fame! 'tis the madness of consuming thought, 

Toiling in tears, aspiring in despair, 

That steals in Love's delirium, o'er the brain. 

And, while it buries childhood's purest joys, 

Wakes manhood's dreamy agonies to life ! 

Fame ! 'tis the voice of sepulchres, to earth 

Uttering the praises of the gone — the hymn 

Of the dust shrouded, over pale decay. 

And sounding to the spheres the name of him 

Who loved unloved and trusted traitor hearts. 

Whose bread was bitterness, whose years, a curse ! 

Fame ! 'tis the sunbow o'er the abyss of Time — 

A glance can melt it into showers of tears ! 

A glacier, hanging from a shattered peak — 

A breath can bring the glittering ruin down ! 

A dream of glory with the seraphim — 

Death's shadows gather round it in the dawn ! 

Therefore, I sought not power but peace, and love 
Was my heart's paradise — the guiltless home 



CANTO III.] OF POMPEII. 143 

Of all my wandering and tumultuous thoughts. 

But that was blighted by the breath of hate, 

And the relentless perjuries of men 

O'erspread the mirrored mind with tempest clouds. 

The hues of morn and evelight, virgin buds 

Kissed by Aurora, woods, beneath whose wings 

The fragrance and the music of glad life 

Breathed, and the myriad charms that solitude 

Folds mid the throbs of its deserted heart, 

Yet o'er me hold dominion ; but the light 

Of their first beauty and the tenderest voice 

Of Nature, throned in holy ministries, 

That, in my earlier days, fell on my soul 

Like seraphim revealings, wear not now 

The magic loveliness which memory feels. 

Torrents of wrongs and calumnies, hurled out 

From the Gehenna of revenge to fall 

Upon the Hinnom of the world, have raised 

In me the spirit of a dreadless scorn 

And multiplied contempt of human thoughts. 

And these with thee, O Nature ! mingle not. 

But time hath its atonement though I sink 

Beneath the burden of blaspheming speech, 

And die beneath the Upas in my youth ; 

And to the Avenger of far ages now 



144 TI£ D LAST NIG I£T [CAI^TO HI. 

I do devote the ruined shrine, and raise 
The incense of a spirit dimmed by tears. 
Yet visited in loneliness by hymns 
Of heaven and stars of glory wandering down. 

But now the shadows of the buried move 
Around me — beautiful and haughty forms — 
Waked from the sleep of centuries to endure, 
Again, the vanities of earlh's best joys, 
The certainties of evil — (mind restores 
The dead) — and havoc cries ascend the heavens 
From Pompeii's waiting thousands, while the groans 
Of the convulsed volcano answer them. 
The feeble and the famishing and slaves, 
Whose toil a thousand years cannot reveal. 
Alone are seen upon the public ways ; 
And every face is chronicled with care, 
Loathing the lingering lapse of wasted breath, 
The purposeless continuance of low toil 
And want and thankless servitude, amid 
The meshes of a wan and dim despair. 
All else find pastime in the savageness 
Of games where smiles and shouts are bought with blood. 
Quaestor and a)dile, senator and knight, 
Censor anrl flamcn, vestal and courtesan. 



CANTO III.] OP POMPEII. 14.5 

Noble and commoner, commingling, meet 
Amid the portent horrors of the day, 
Whose shuddering light to Pompeii bids farewell, 
In torture to seek rapture, in the pangs 
Of gladiators gored and Christians gashed 
And mangled to proclaim their ecstacies ! 
The dicer in the midst suspends his skill, 
Tested by spoil wrung from the heart of want. 
To witness and applaud the guiltier tests 
Of science ; and the banqueter forsakes 
The wanton wassail of the flesh to seek 
The richer revel of the bandit mind. 
The spotless vestals the electric fire 
Of Vesta's shrine desert and through their veils 
Gaze, from the podium (*-) of patrician pride. 
On sinless blood poured o'er the trampled sand 
From the hot veins of causeless strife ; the judge 
Bears from the Forum the remorseless thoughts. 
Which, petrified by usage, have become 
His Nature, never thrilled by mercy's voice. 
The matron, whom dishonor dares not name ; 
The virgin in her beauty angel pure ; 
The warrior, who, like Blenhiem's victor, ne'er 
The stategy of pale retreat had learned 
In the swift triumph of his bannered march ; 

19 



146 THE LAST NIGHT [cANTO III. 

The merchant, whose integrity no thought 

Assails ; the poet from his dreams of eld, 

Elfland and wizardy and fabled gods ; 

Sages, by their disciples canonized, 

Who from Saturnian visions, feigning power 

Without oppression and republics stained 

By no corruptions, bosomed mid the bowers 

Of the Evening Isles or Orcades — arise 

To look upon the agonistes' face 

Imaging hell, and with the Circus' shouts 

Mingle the fiats of philosophy ! ('' ') 

And augurs to perfect their oracles 

Come now to gaze upon the cloven heart 

And watch the spasms of Nature's utter throes. 

And Pompeii's might and affluence await 

The Praetor's voice, and the vast fabric gleams 

With million glances and with million cries 

Echoes, as from the tribune now the word 

Of Power commands — " Lo ! let the games begin !" 

Cheered by the charioteers, who proudly stand, ^ 
Reining their fury, round the battlement 
Rush the barbed chargers, like the samiel cloud 
O'er Zara when the tropic burns with death ; 
And breathless watchers, who, upon the race, 
Risk many a talent, when they would deny 



CANTO III.] () F P O M P E 1 1. 147 

The alms of one poor obolus to woe, 
Hang waiting sudden triumph or despair. 
One wins, the prelude closes, and the host, 
Like winds amid a wilderness of leaves, 
Sink down and to the dread arena turn. 
The trumpet summons — awful silence floats 
Over the multitudes who fix their gaze 
Upon the portals of the cells beneath. 

They open and the gladiators move 
Round the thronged circle to display their forms 
Athlete and strong, and with the voice of death 
Salute the ruthless Genius of the Games. (**) 
From many a kingdom thralled they come — from realms 
Spoiled by the locust hordes of Rome ; the Gaul, 
The Briton and the Thracian and the Frank, 
The Wehrmanne and the Hebrew and the Celt, 
Every clime's vanquished — every age's wreck. 
All codes and creeds, strangers or friends, contend 
Here in assassin strife to please their lords. 
One deep wild shout like breaking billows swells, 
Hailing the victims of the carnage fiend. 
And on the sands two stalwart forms alone 
Remain ; and now Sigalion, voiceless god 
Of Memphian mysteries, of all the host 



148 THE LAST XIGIIT [CANTO III. 

Seems sovereign, such a quivering stillness hangs 

Over the thousands, who await the fray 

With eyes electric as the ether fires, 

Lips sealed by passion, hearts, like lava, still 

In their intensest rapture ! Bickering swords 

Clash quickly, yet, with matchless skill, each blow 

Or thrust falls on the flashing steel ; and long, 

With fixed eyes dropping not their folded lids, 

And marble lips, and brows whereon the veins 

Burn like the storm bolt o'er ice pinnacles, 

And heaving bosoms, naked in their strength. 

And limbs in every attitude of grace 

And power — they struggle, not in hope of fame. 

To win dominion, or achieve revenge ; 

But by their toil and agony and blood 

To amuse the languid masters of the world. 

From the free forest where he walked a king. 

From his hearth's altar where he stood a priest, 

Hither, in manacles, was guiltless man 

Dragged for a mockery and gory show ! 

An erring glance — and o'er a prostrate form 

Of beauty stands the unrejoicing foe. 

Sternly receiving from the merciless 

The still command to slay ! and now he lifls 

His serried sabre purpled 1o the hilt 



CANTO III.] OF POMPEII. 140 

With that heart's blood he might have deeply loved \ 
One groan — a gasp — a shudder — and a soul 
Hath gone to join the myriad witnesses 
Who in the winds of northern wilds invoke 
The Desolators to avenge their doom. 

While o'er the sands they drag the dead, and strew 
The place of carnage with uncrimsoned dust, 
Mirth reigns and voices mingle everywhere, 
Lauding the skill of the barbarian's strife 
And the fine anguish of the dying slave. 
Some talk of Titus, deeming him too just 
And mild and generous while conspiracy 
Mutters Domitian and Locasta's cup. (**) 
And some relate, looking upon the mount, 
Traditions of volcanoes direr far 
Than aught they have to fear in latter days ; 
The depths of mountains boiling — valleys filled 
With o'erthrown hills — and islands through the floods 
Of ocean, apparitions, to the stars 
Casting the torrid terrors of their birth. 
Some say, the Praetor, when the lustrum ends, 
Will govern Syria, and the sage surmise 
That confiscation in Campania bought 
The Senate's will that he should rule the east. 



1 50 T H E L A S T N I G H T [cANTO III, 

Wine, love, the dance, war, wealth, ambition, hate, 
Earthquake, plague, priesthood, revel, rival sects 
In faith or knowledge — yesterday's delights. 
To-morrow's deeds — each, all, in various speech, 
Absorb the mind until the trumpet sounds. 

Again, scarce breathing stillness falls — again 
The gladiators enter, and the strife. 
Protracted but to close in death, goes on. 
A Briton, from the land of Caradoc, 
Whose daily breath had been Plinlimmon's breeze, 
Beneath the weapon of the Gaul pours out 
Blood glowing with the soul of liberty, 
And dies, to Druid altars in the realm 
Of Mona, breathing back his heart, whose voice 
Andraste, (^ '') in her home of vengeance, hears. 
Triumphant shouts and quick expiring shrieks. 
Dread silence and hurrahs and agonies 
Succeed each mortal fray ; and oft the sands. 
Dabbled by gory fingers, trampled o'er 
By feet that fail -beneath the crushing strength 
Of the grim joyless victors — are fresh strewn 
To bury blood which sunk not into earth. 
But from beholding heaven drew down the wrath 
That made almighty Rome, to every land. 



CANTO in,] OPPOMPEII. 161 

A curse, a mockery and a shuddering jest. 

^« Three spirits wander by the spectre stream ! 

Are the great people glutted with the gore ?" 

Said Diomede, for Pansa's trial hour 

With an exulting patience waiting long. 

" Sound for the Christians and the desert king ! 

It darkens hurriedly and lava hail 

Hurtles amid the ashes ! we may rob 

The God of Triumph of the Apostates' blood, 

Or lose the rapture of their agonies. 

Throw wide the portals ! let the Christians come 1" 

The mitred ministers of idol rites 
Came on in bannered pomp and conscious power, 
Circling the arena ; and the lictor guard 
Followed with Pansa, and another form 
That shrunk and faltered as ten thousand eyes 
Searched out the fear that harrowed his pale heart. 
Slow to the wail of Lydian flutes and blast 
Of clarions breathing death, with looks of awe 
Feigned and drooped eyes of mystery, around 
Moved the procession; and the Prajsul's (*■") gaze 
Wandered, in haughty majesty, along 
The risen and revering host he blessed. 
Few think, for thought is born of pain, and night 



1 52 T H E L A S T N I G H T [CAMTO IIF. 

Hath not repose, nor day, free bliss to him 
Whose spirit 's rapt ; yet all can feel and fear, 
For that is flesh — the earth-born shadows cast 
Around them by their destinies ; and they, 
Who dwell in earth's abundance and from domes, 
Stately and glistering, issue to receive 
Guerdons of gold for oracles of wrath, 
Illume not, save with fires of hell, the gloom 
That curtains the black portal of the grave. 
Virtue needs no interpreter, and vice, 
I^ike palace tombs, mocks its own turpitude. 
When painted o'er with saintly imageries ; 
But Faith, that searches not, dreads every dream, 
Becoming to itself a hell, and seeks 
Heaven through the pontiff, who, in secret doubt 
Of joys elysian, craves earth's richest gifts. 
And at his votary's phantom banquet smiles. 

Before the image — wrought by Phidias, when 
His faithless country unto rival realms 
Banished his genius — of the supreme Jove, 
The Preesul paused, and with adoring zeal 
Cast incense on the altar ; and soft wreaths 
Of perfumed vapor round the eagle's beak. 
The lifted sceptre and most godlike brow, 



CANTO III.] o p r O M P E I I. 1 53 

(The artist's mind was the sole deity) 
Curled as in homage, and one blended voice 
Burst from the thousands — "Supreme Jove is God!" 
Then all the priests from every fane and all 
The accolytes and soldiers incense flung, 
And the proud statue proudly seemed to smile. 
Next, bent and trembling, blind and dumb with fear, 
A Christian came (from noisome catacombs 
Dragged forth to prove his feebleness of faith,) — 
Like the great Pisan (* ^) who from midnight heavens 
Could summon the eternal stars and fill 
His angel spirit with their glories, yet 
Abjured, in fear, before his bigot foes. 
All the magnificence of thought, and knelt, 
A hoar apostate, in the dust, to win 
The lingering torture of a few sad hours. 
And live — a monument of mind dethroned ! 
Onward he came with tottering childhood's step. 
And with a face to all but terror dead. 
He loved the light, adored the truth, yet dared 
Meet not the perils it revealed ; and now 
Unto the altar's horns he clung and gasped 
His panic breath, and gazed beseeching round 
In utter horror's wilderment, and groped 
Amid the shrine lights for the frankincense, 

20 



154 TUE L AST NIG IIT [CANTO 111. 

With quivering fingers hurriedly ; but Fear 

Had quenched soul, feeling, sense — and, as his hand 

Moved o'er the porphyry with a mindless aim, 

And the wild pantings of his bosom spread 

Hues ghastlier than death's along his cheek, 

A stern centurion, with a frown of scorn 

And sickened pity, from the censer took 

The idol odor and upon the palm 

Of the apostate threw it with a curse ; 

And ere the lapse of thought, his worship flashed 

On the stern aspect of the demon god ! 

And, onward borne triumphantly, he passed 

To meet, through every hour of haunted time, 

Derision for denial of his Lord ! 

Hate on his brow and in his heart revenge, 
(By bigot pride, scorned power and baffled lust 
Engendered like the serpent on the waste) 
Diomede glared upon the lofty form 
That now before the awful statue stood. 
No pride, lightening defiance, in his eye, 
Dared the despair of fortune ; no wild faith 
Waited for miracles ; but there he stood, 
Beautiful in the magnificence of Truth, 
Before the haughty scorners of chained beings, 
The mightiest and most merciless of earth. 



CANTO in.] OP POMPEII. 155 

His thought above the proudest of them all, 

(For Roman mind to Christian creed was wed) 

And on the countless eyes, that watched him, looked 

With the sublime serenity unknown 

To natures weak or terrible as hours 

And their events decree. No joy, no pain, 

Changed the fixed features of a calm resolve ; 

No glance betrayed a triumph in his fate. 

Or doubt that might avert his martyrdom. 

Upon the still crowd rose his gentle eyes 

Blue and translucent as the heaven, as erst 

The sungod, gliding up the glacier steeps 

Of Hsemus, o'er the tossed ^Egean cast 

His deathless smile among the Cyclades. 

Pure in his faith and passionless in truth. 

He never sought to seal with agony " 

The creed of the Anointed, but, instead. 

Shunned Paynimrie's resort and dwelt in wilds, 

Distrusting the infirmities that oft 

O'ersway the spirit ; but the fated hour 

Had not passed by — the one deep love, that chained 

His heart to earth, was parted, it might be 

To welcome him to paradise, if not, 

To meet his welcome thei-e ; and now, beyond 

The tyrant passions of the world, he stood 



156 THE LAST NIGHT [cANTO III. 

Dauntless mid heathendom, and thus, in tones 
Strong as the ocean's, in whose utter deeps 
The Alps may sink, yet leave vast deeps above, 
He to the image of the Thunderer spake, 

" Thou breathless Mocker of the humbled mind ! 
Thou Idol Image of remorseless power ! 
Shall being, quickened by the glowing blood, 
In worship bow to thee, a sculptured block? 
Shall intellect, illumed and magnified. 
Whose home is ether, whose immortal hope 
Is deathless glory, render unto thee 
The adoration of the Deity ? 

Oh, how should men be just when they have throned 
Amid the universe, o'erswaying all, 
A suprerne vengeance — demon deified? 
Whose common and commended deeds would crown 
A mortal with the curses of the world. 
And round him spread a solitude of hate 
Haunted alone by grovelling infamies ! 
Well wast thou fabled — son of Earth and Time ! 
For all impurities and ills are thine. 
Transformed despoiler ! e'en thy votaries mock 
Yet mimic thee, as well they may, the work 
Of their own lusts! Canst thou call forth one star 



I 



CANTO III.] o r r o M p E 1 1. 157 

Of all that blossom in the boundlessness 

Of that undymg heaven unknown to thee ? 

Will Mazzaroth or Mythra soar or sink ? 

Or terrible behemoth leave his depths ? 

Or the proud desert bird feel nature's love ? 

Because thou bidst ? doth thine own eagle fear 

The power men quail at ? or the tempest float 

Along Olympus, hurling arrowy fires, 

In reverence to thy best ? yet why is this ? 

Methinks, 1 wander back to Pagan faith, 

Thus questioning the hewn marble, which portrays 

The apotheosis of man's worst revenge ! 

Beneath the unimaged, unimagined God, 

Who hath no temple but infinity, 

Where the great multitude of stars adore, 

Flying along their glorious spheres — I stand 

Here in thy home (it fits thy nature well) 

And, without awe or exultation, dare 

Deny thee incense, prayer, love, fear and faith !" 

Not louder in its burning temple roared 
The dread volcano when the firestorm came, 
And earth's abysses quivered in their wrath, 
Than now the voices of the phrenzied host. 
•' Tear the blasphemer ! let the wild beasts forth 



1 58 T H E L A S T N I G II T [cANTO III. 

To rend his limbs and gnash his living heart ! 

Impale the accursed ! chain him within the fire ! 

Saw him asunder ! cast his viper tongue 

Into the serpents' den to poison them !" 

Thus thousands shrieked — yet now the shoutings changed. 

" Hark ! Jove the Avenger answers ! lo ! the heavens 

With shuddering clouds are filled and lightnings leap 

Through their gored bosoms and the thunder shaft 

Bickers along the air — great Jove beholds 

And hears — now wither, thou blaspheming slave !" 

Awed yet untrembling, Pansa calm replied. 
"Ye hear no thunder — but Destruction's howl ! 
Ye see no lightning — but the lava glare 
Of desolation sweeping o'er your pride ! 
Death is beneath, around, above, within 
All who exult to inflict it on my heart, 
And ye must meet it, fly when, where ye will, 
For in the madness of your cruelties 
Ye have delayed till every hope is dead. 
Let the doom come ! our faiths will soon he tried. 
Gigantic spectres from their shadowy thrones, 
With ghastly smiles to welcome ye, arise. 
The Pharaohs and Ptolemies uplift 
Their glimmering sceptres o'er ye — bidding all 



CANTO III.] O F P O M P E 1 1. 1 59 

Bare their dark bosoms to the Omniscient God : 

And every strange and horrid mythos waits 

To fold ye in the terrors of its dreams. 

— For thee, proud Pra;tor ! throned on human hearts 

And warded by thy cohorts from the arm 

Of violated virtue and spurned Right, 

And suffering's madness — though thy regal tomb 

Cepolline proudly stand, thy scattered dust 

Shall never sleep within it ; years shall fade 

And nations perish and ten thousand kings 

With all their thrice ten thousand victories 

Rest in oblivion, and the very earth 

Change with the changes of her children, yet 

The empty mansion of thy vain renown 

Shall stand that generations unconceived 

May ask the deeds of him who was cast out 

By vengeance from his fathers' sepulchres !" 

" Let loose the wild beasts on him ! why are we 
Thus left to bear the traitor's arrogance ? 
The convict's scorn ? the gladiator's speech ? 
Let loose the only foe that fits his faith ; 
The Mauretanian's arguments are meet 
And suit his mystic cabala. Throw wide 
The cells and let the lion make reply." 



160 THE LAST NIOUT [CANTO HI. 

" The outer corridors," the Lanista said, 
^'Are filled with ashes, and within the vaults 
Arches have fallen and no powder can ope 
The portal of the Atlas beast, my lord!" 

" Bring a ballista, then, and shatter it ! 
For by the eternal Fates and all the Gods ! 
This darer and blasphemer shall not scape. 
Let none depart ! why, would the people shun 
The luxury of this despiser's pangs, 
Or doth his airy talk infect your souls 
And sway your thoughts by oracles of woe ? 
Spare Nazarenes ! who would o'erturn the creed 
And code of Rome, and on the throne of earth 
Exalt the image of a felon God ! 
Gather your wisdom, men ! — so, dash to earth 
The portal and goad on the savage king !" 

Still by Jove's altar standing, Pansa looked 
Upon the fluctuating host around, 
Some with fear trembling, some with baffled hate, 
Some silent in excess of passion, some 
Most earnest to behold the game of death. 
And thus, like a cathedral knell, he spake. 
" I show ye mercy none will show to me ! 



CANTO III.] OF POM pi: I I. 1^1 

Fly ! ere the banners of the galleys wave 
Beyond the cape ! fly, ere the earth and air 
Become the hell that fiction fables ! fly 
Ere carnage shrieks amid the torrent fire ! 
For me 't is nought — for you, 't is all — away 1" 
Yet, mocking truth and justice, all from flight 
Turned back, and in the joy of shedded blood 
Leaned o'er the arena. From the shattered cell 
The famished lion sprung, with coiling mane 
And fieiidish eyes and jaws that clashed for gore. 

" Take thy sword. Christian ! at thy foot it lies — 
And let the heathen, as thou callest them, mark 
And laud thy skill in combat ! take thy sword !" 
A demon smile convulsed the Pra3tors lip, 
Yet Pansa, in the deep unshaken voice 
Of Truth's immortal sanctity replied. 

" The Martyr needs no weapon : his defence. 
Shield, sabre, helm, spear, banner, all are one. 
A breath from the Eternal — a quick ray 
From the immortality of God — he lives 
But in His mercy, dies but when He wills. 
— Thou mightiest monarch of the forest beasts I 
Who from the heights of Atlas, on the brow 

21 



11*2 THK LAST NIGHT [cANTO 111. 

Of perpendicular precipice alone 

Planting thine armed foot, hast looked o'er sea 

And waste, fearing no equal ; or among 

The haunted wrecks of Carthage, in the pangs 

Of hunger ravening, hast found no food 

Where a great nation died that Rome might reign. 

Thou fiercest terror of the wilderness ! 

Who, without contest, dost consume thy foe. 

And walkst the earth a conqueror and a king ! 

Upon thee — though the extreme of famine gnaws 

Thy vitals now — and thy flesh burns with stripes 

Siven to madden thee, and round and round 

With Titan limbs thou leapst in bitter joy 

Of human banquet, watching, with fierce eyes. 

Terrible as is the simoom of thy clime, 

The moment of thy certain victory — 

Upon thee now I fix the eye, whose light 

Was born of God's Eternity, and while 

Destruction from the face of Deity 

Lours o'er creation, I do bid thee kneel 

There in the gory dust ! ay, by the Power 

Of Him who made thee, monster ! 1 command." 

A roar, as if a myriad thunders burst, 
Now hurtled o'er the heavens, and the deep earth 



CANTO in.] OF POMPEII. 

Shuddered, and a thick storm of lava hail 

Rushed into air to fall upon the world. 

And low the lion cowered, (^») with fearful moans 

And upturned eyes and quivering limbs and clutched 

The gory sand instinctively in fear. 

The very soul of silence died, and breath 

Through the ten thousand pallid lips unfelt 

Stole from the stricken bosoms ; and there stood 

With face uplifted and eyes fixed on air, 

(Which unto him was thronged with angel forms) 

The Christian — waiting the high will of heaven. 

A wandering sound of wailing agony, 
A cry of coming horror o'er the street 
Of Tombs arose, and all the lurid air 
Echoed the shrieks of hopelessness and death. 
Then through the gates and o'er the city rushed 
A ghastly multitude, naked and black 
With sulphur fumes and spotted o'er with marl 
That clung unto the agonizing flesh 
Like a wronged orphan's curse. In terror blind, 
They rushed, in dreadful companies, along 
The solitary Appian Way, and e'er 
Their awful voices howled the horrors forth. 
'• Destroyed ! wrecked in its beauty — all destroyed ! 



108 



164 THE LAST NIGHT [«;ANT0 III. 

Billows of lava boil above the towers 
Of Herculaneum ! we alone are left ! 
The lovely city ! all our happy homes ! 
Buried in blackness 'neath a sea of fire ! 
The deluge came along the shattering rocks — 
We fled and met another — yet again 
We turned dismayed and a third fiery flood 
Came down in ruin's grandeur on our path ! 
Between the mountain and the sea we scaped. 
Oh, many a corse beneath the depths hath mixed 
With the consumed, consuming clay, and lo ! 
A SoJfatara o'er our city rolls, 
Boiling in deeps of blackness ! on — away ! 
What fated madness holds the death-games now ? 
Rise, Pompeii ! fly, the Fates delay not here !" 
Down to the dark convulsive sea they rushed, 
O'er them the volcano, and beneath, 
The earthquake, and around, ruin and death. 

'* Hear ye not now?" said Pansa. " Death is here ! 
Ye saw the avalanche of fire descend 
Vesuvian steeps, and in its giant strength 
Sweep on to Herculaneum ; and ye cried, 
•' It threats not us, why should we lose the sport ? 
Though thousands perish, why should we refrain ?" 



CANTO III.] OF POMP r I I. 165 

Your sister city — the most beautiful — 
Gasps in the burning ocean — from her domes 
Fly the survivers of her people, driven 
Before the torrent floods of molten earth 
With desolation red — and o'er her grave 
Unearthly voices raise the heart's last cries — 
" Fly, fly ! O horror ! O my son ! my sire !" 
The hoarse shouts multiply; without the mount 
Are agony and death — within, such rage 
Of fossil fire as man may not behold ! 
Hark ! the Destroyer slumbers not — and now, 
Be your theologies but true, your Jove, 
Mid all his thunders, would shrink back aghast, 
Listening the horrors of the Titans' strife. 
The lion trembles ; will ye have my blood ? 
Or flee ere Herculaneum's fate is yours 1" 

Vesuvius answered: from its pinnacles 
Clouds of far-flashing cinders, lava showers, 
And seas, drank up by the abyss of fire 
To be hurled forth in boiling cataracts, 
Like midnight mountains, wrapt in lightnings, fell. 
Oh, then, the love of life ! the struggling rush, 
The crushing conflict of escape ! few, brief. 
And dire the words delirious fear spake now — 



1*'^ THE LAST MGHT [cANTO Til. 

One thought, one action swayed the tossing crowd. 

All through the vomitories madly sprung, 

And mass on mass of trembling beings pressed, 

Gasping and goading, with the savageness 

That is the child of danger, like the waves 

Charybdis from his jagged rocks throws down, 

Mingled by fury — warring in their foam. 

Some swooned and were trod down by legion feet ; 

Some cried for mercy to the unanswering gods ; 

Some shrieked for parted friends for ever lost ; 

And some, in passion's chaos, with the yells 

Of desperation did blaspheme the heavens; 

And some were still in utterness of woe. 

Yet all toiled on in trembling waves of life 

Along the subterranean corridors. 

Moments were centuries of doubt and dread : 

Each breathing obstacle a hated thing : 

Each trampled wretch, a footstool to o'erlook 

The foremost multitudes ; and terror, now, 

Begat in all a maniac ruthlessness. 

For in the madness of their agonies 

Strong men cast down the feeble who delayed 

Their flight, and maidens on the stones were crushed. 

And mothers maddened when the warrior's heel 

Passed o'er the faces of their sons ! The thronsr 



CANT« UI.] OF POaiIF£II. 167 

Pressed on, and in the ampler arcades now 

Beheld, as floods of human life rolled by, 

The perfect terrors of the destined hour. 

In gory vapors the great sun went down ; 

The broad dark sea heaved like the dying heart, 

'Tween earth and heaven hovering o'er the grave. 

And moaned through all its waters ; every dome 

And temple, charred and choked with ceaseless showers 

Of suffocating cinders, seemed the home 

Of the triumphant desolator Death. 

One dreadful glance sufficed — and to the sea, 

Like Lybian winds, breathing despair, they fled. 

Nature's quick instinct, in most savage beasts, 
Prophecies danger ere man's thought awakes, 
And shrinks in fear from common savageness, 
Made gentle by its terror ; thus, o'erawed 
E'en in his famine's fury by a Power 
Brute beings more than human off adore. 
The Lion lay, his quivering paws outspread, 
.His vi^hite teeth gnashing, till the crushing throngs 
Had passed the corridors ; then, glaring up 
His eyes imbued with samiel light, he saw 
The crags and forests of the Appenines 
Gleaming far off, and with the exulting sense 



168 THE LAST NIGHT [CANTO Iir. 

Of home and lone dominion, at a bound, 
He leapt the lofty palisades and sprung 
Along the spii-al passages, with howls 
Of horror through the flying multitudes 
Flying to seek his lonely mountain lair. 

From every cell shrieks burst ; hyaenas cried 
Like lost child stricken in its loneliness : 
The giant elephant with matchless strength 
Struggled against the portal of his tomb. 
And groaned and panted ; and the leopard's yell 
And tyger's growl with all surrounding cries 
Of human horror mingled ; and in air, 
Spotting the lurid heavens and waiting prey, 
The evil birds of carnage hung and watched. 
As ravening heirs watch o'er the misers couch. 
All awful sounds of heaven and earth met now : 
Darkness behind the sungod's chariot rolled. 
Shrouding destruction, save when volcan fires 
Lifted the folds to gaze on agony ; 
And when a moment's terrible repose 
Fell on the deep convulsions, all could hear 
The toppling cliffs explode and crash below, 
While multitudinous waters from the sea 
In whirlpools through the channelled mountain rocks 



CANTO III.] OF POJIPEII. 169 

Hushed, and, with hisses hke the damned's speech. 
Fell in the mighty furnace of the mount. 

Tyrant not dastard, daring in his guilt 
And fearless of its issues, Diomede 
Frowned on the panic flight and in his wrath 
Man, earth and heaven, demons and gods defied. 
" The craven people — e'en my very slaves 
Have fled as dast-born vassals ever flee. 
And I am left alone with marble gods 
And howling savageness, mid showers of flame. 
Gods ! I trust not elysium feigned by them 
Who make the earth a very mock of hell. 
Ay, roar, yell, struggle till your fierce hearts burst ! 
And with thy thousand thunders shake the throne 
Of Jove, Vesuvius ! and the world confound ! 
I have not loved nor sought the love of man, 
And higher than his nature I know not, 
Nor lower ; and alone 1 sit to laugh 
At mortal fear and dare immortal hate, 
For, if aught die not, 't is revenge and pain." 

" Hath memory wed with madness that thou sayst 
' Alone,' proud Praetor ? one yet looks on Jove 
And sees no deity ; one yet awaits 

22 



170 THIC LAST KIGIIT [CANTO III. 

The pleasure of Campania's haughty lord. 
The hour and scene fit well the deadly fight, 
Yet I behold no foe ; what wouldst thou more ?" 
Pansa stood motionless and spake in scorn. 

" Thou damned Nazarene ! the imperial law 
Shall forge new fetters for thy treacheries, 
Thy necromancies and apostate deeds. 
Meantime exult, thank, praise and bless thy God, 
Convict redeemer, buried deity. 
That my condition fits not contest now 
With thine, or wolves should ravine on thy limbs 
And eagles' talons bear to mountain cliffs 
Thy heart yet quivering with the pulse of fear. 
Some fiendish potence foils me now ; again 
Thou shalt not win fire-fiends unto thy aid : 
Yet, Pompeii shall acclaim thine agonies — 
Again, thou shalt not scape though hell arise !" 

•' Again we shall not meet in all the realnjs 
Of universal being — all the hours 
That linger on eternity ! we part 
For ever now, each to his deathless doom. 
But had not other creed than vengeance filled 
A Roman's mind with mercy, words like thine. 



m 



«;yVNTo III.] OF POM Pi: 1 1. J 71 

Now thy prastorians leave us twain, the onr 
With all to lose, the other, all to gain, 
Would bring a direr parting hour, howe'er 
Thy Punic blood and Volscian pride revolt. 
Oh, thou mayst scoff! thou wouldst outdare the fiends 
And mock in Orcus sin's undying moans ; 
But here we part, proud victim ! so, farewell ! 
Jehovah's wrath is o'er thee — o'er us all — 
The shocked earth cries unto the blackened heavens, 
The mighty heart of earthly being bursts. 
And thou shalt quickly know what Hebrew awe 
Trembled to hear. El Shaddai — 't is a name 
The phantoms ye adore and curse have borne 
Vainly — yon mount is its interpreter — 
The Almighty looks in lightning from His throne. 
Jove's shrine is covered with the lava shower, 
t'^i,'^^ The ashes gather round me ! oh, farewell !" 



f^>r 



Through deepening cinders, tossing sulphur clouds. 
And victims shrieking in their agonies, 
The Prffitor sought his way. His harnessed steeds 
Maddened by fear, had with his chariot flown, 
The charioteer had perished 'neath the wheels : 
And haughtily through all the Appian Way, 
Among the whirlpool waves of human life, 



1 72 T H E L A S T N I G H T [CANTO III. 

And lighted by destruction's breath of flame, 

He struggled tow'rd his palace, to the wrath 

Of heaven fronting defiance, e'en while Death 

Dwelt in the bosom of all elements 

And the world trembled ! hastening to his dome, 

Of power in Syrian sj)lendors and a fame 

Immortal as the flatterer's pander verse. 

He dreamed; and bearing to the vaulted crypt, 

Whose labyrinths wandered far beneath the hills, 

His gold and gems, he on his household closed 

The marble door, deeming their safety won. 

Whose strangled death cries rose unheard — ^whose bones 

The daily sunlight of a thousand years 

Ne'er visited beneath the deeps of death. 

Pansa, meantime, in gladiator guise. 
By other paths had hurried from the scene. 
And now beneath the skies, where billowy clouds 
Rolled in the awful volcan light, beheld 
The fabric of destruction vast and lone. 
Vesuvius poured its deluge forth, the sea 
Shuddered and sent unearthly voices up. 
The isles of beauty, by the fire and surge 
Shaken and withered, on the troubled waves 
F/Ooked down like spirits blasted; and the land 



CANTO HI.] OP POMPEII. 173 

Of Italy's once paradise became 

The home of ruin — vineyard, grove and bower, 

Tree, shrub, fruit, blossom — love, life, light and hope, 

All vanishing beneath the fossil flood 

And storm of ashes from the cloven broMr 

Of the dread mountain hurled in horror down. 

The echoes of ten thousand agonies 

Arose from mount and shore, and some looked back 

Cursing, and more bewailing as they fled, 

With glowing marl or ashes on their heads. 

" Thou one great Spirit of all being ! here, 
Where power is helplessness and hope, a dream, 
Here in the horror of the havoc, breathe 
Thy smile upon my soul, and time and death, 
With all their anguish, shall o'erawe me not !" 
Imploring thus, the Christian held his way 
Through the wild scene, with undefined impulse, 
Nor shunning death, nor daring it, but filled 
With emanations of undying faith. 

A voice, whose tones, like music heard when youth 
Lives in the visions of the blue blest heaven, 
Thrilled the quick heart of Pansa, from the gloom 
Of a lone street came forth, and bended forms 



174 TUK LAST MGHT [cANTO III 

Stole from the hutted refuge of despair, 

And tow'rd the Appian by the Forum fled. 

And througli the night the voice of age went up. (* ') 

" Tarry not, daughter ! for these aged Hmbs, 
Dust they soon must be — though the world revered — 
And, if my hour be come, the woe is past. 
But hasten, daughter ! moments have become 
Ages — the air, the earth, the ocean blend 
Their agonizing energies — away ! 
Beneath the o'erhung rocks — where fishers wont 
To moor their boats, now stranded on the beach, 
The pinnace lies I spake of — and the word 
Is Marcion ! Thither, without let or fear, 
Hasten: a Christian from Tergeste (^') holds 
Command, and ere an hour its oars and sails 
Shall waft you far from ruin round us now." 

" Nay, father ! to the shadow of your roof 
I hurried when the violator's wrath 
Burned o'er me — and thine own familiar fears 
Denied me not a refuge ! we shall sleep 
Mid fire together or together flee. 
Yet more — no barque shall bear me from the beacli 
Till the last hope expires that from his bonds 



eANTO ni.J OF POMPEII. 175 

Pansa may burst to bear us company. 
Perchance, among the fugitives, e'en now 
He flies, and wanders by the ocean marge" — 

On through the death-storm the Decurion sprung. 
" No, Mariamne ! my beloved restored ! 
Here, in the home of desolation, here, 
I fold thee spotless to my happy heart ! 
And find my paradise in ruin's arms ! 
But here we pause not to pour out our souls. 
A pinnace lies beneath the cliffs, sayst thou ? 
Thy hoary wisdom hath redeemed us, sage 1 
Stay thy weak limbs upon my strength ! on ! on ! 
I snatched the slaughtered gladiator's helm — 
Cast o'er your heads your mantles — so, away !" 

Down the steep path unto the moaning sea 
They passed with quickened steps, and upward glanced 
The maiden of the vaults of Isis, once. 
Eyes floating in the farewell tears of love, 
As by the black and desolated home 
Of all her childhood's innocence and bliss, 
They fled like shades and to the ramparts came, 
Upon them, by the fiend-light full revealed. 
Wandered the hoary idol priest of Jove 



176 THELAST NIGHT [CAN TO III. 

In maniac horror ; and amidst the roar, 
The riot and the wreck of earth and heaven, 
Thus rose his awful voice in prophecies. 

THE VISION OF THE FLAMEN. 

Call in thy cohorts, Rome ! from every land 

Thy power hath deluged with unsinning blood ! 
Call in thy legions from Iberia's strand, 

From Albion's rocks, and Rhastia s mountain wood ! 
The foe, like glaciers hurled 
Through clouds of lightning on the world, 
Springs from his forest in the wildest north. 

Scenting his prey afar : 
And, like the samiel, from the waste comes forth 

To steep your glories in the gore of war. 
Hark ! the whole earth rejoices ! 

Sea shouts to isle and mountain unto main, 
And ocean to the heaven, with myriad voices — 

Rome's sepulchre shall be amid her slain. 
And as she spared not, none shall spare her now, 

But Hun, Goth, Vandal, Alemanne and Frank 

Shall lift the poison cup all earth hath drank. 
And steep her shuddering lips, and on her brow 

Pour blood for ointment, and upon her head, 

Till thousand ages have in darkness fled. 



r..\NTO III.] OV POMFKll. 1''^ 

Mocking, press down 
The accursed crown 
Which shall not cease to bleed as conquered men have 
bled !" 

Thy monarchs, slaves to every lust and crime, 

Shall fall as they have fallen by the sword 
Or Colchian chalice, and unweeping time 
O'erthrow the deities by dust adored, 
And leave but ruin to lament 
O'er pillar, shrine and battlement, 
And solitude o'er desert realms to moan. 
Where warriors mocked chained kings and called the 

world their own ! 
The coal black petrel and the grey curlew 

Shall wing thy waters and see not thy sail ; 
From trembUng towers the stork shall watch the blue 
Of the lone heavens and hear no human hail : 

For in the vales that bask in bloom, 
The Pontine's flowers, the bright Maremma's green. 

Shall dwell the shadow of the tomb, 
In Love's voluptuous arms, the tyrant death unseen ! 

And Nero's golden house shall be ' 

The pallid serf's abode, 

And tombs imperial, soaring from the sea. 
23 



178 THE LAST MGHT [CANTO III. 

Shall guide the corsair through his night of blood. 
Despair with folded wings, 

Where the Eagle's pinions hung, 
Shall cower beneath the throne of kings, 

Who o'er the Alps the curse of hell have flung. 

Woe to the beautiful ! the barbarian comes \ 

Woe to the proud ! the peasant lays thee low .' 
Woe to the mighty ! o'er your kingly domes 

The savage banner soars — the watchfires glow : 
Triumph and terror through the forum rush. 

Art's trophies vanish — learning's holy lore, — 
Alaric banquets while red torrents gush, 

Attila slumbers on his couch of gore ! 
And there the eye of Ruin roams 

O'er guilt and grief and desolation ; 
And there above a thousand homes 

The voice of Ruin mourns a buried nation. 
Buried, O Rome ! not like Campania's cities, 

To wake in beauty when the centuries flee, 
But in the vice and coward shame none pities, 

The living grave of guilt and agony ! 
Alas ! for Glory that must close in gloom ! 

Alas ! for Pride that loves the tyrant's scorn ! 

Alas ! for Fame that from the Scipios' tomb 



CANTO III.] OF POMI'im. 179 

Rises to look on infamy and mourn ! 
But Vengeance, wandering long, 
With many a battle hymn arfd funeral song, 
Shakes Fear's pale slumber from earth's awestruck eyes. 
And bids Saimatia's hordes redeem her agonies! 

Yet not alone the civic wreath, 

The conqueror's laurel, the triumphers pride 
Shall wither 'neath the samiel eye of Deatli : 

On Rome's old mount of glory shall abide, 
Tiar'd and robed like the Orient's vainest kings. 

The hoar devoter of earth's diadems ; (^^) 
His glance shall haunt the heart's imaginings — 

His footfall shall be felt where misers hoard their gems ! 
And from the palace of the Sacred Hill 

The thrice crown'd pontiff shall to earth dispense 
The awful edict of his mighty will, 

And reign o'er mind in Fear's magnificence. 
Prince, peasant, bandit, slave shall bow 

Beneath his throne in voiceless adoration, 
And years of crime redeem by one wrung vow ; 

And age on age shall die — and many a nation 
Sink in the shadow of the tyrant's frown 
And disappear. 
Without a song or tear. 



180 THE LAST NIGHT [CANTO HI. 

While clarion'd conquerors tread 

In hymned triumph o'er the dead ; 

And wild barbarian hordes, 

Whose faith and fealty glitter with their swoi'ds. 

Shall feel the mellowing breath of human love, 
And dwell entranced amid romance and lore ; 

Yet from the awful Vatican no dove 
Shall bear freewill to any earthly shore ! 

But he, the Rock amid the ruins old 
Of mythologic temples, shall o'ersway 

The very Earth, till thrones and kingdoms sold 
And empires blasted in the blaze of day — 

Awake the world — and from the human heart 
The crushing mountain of Oppression cast ; 

Then man shall bid all tyrannies depart, 
And from the blue blest heavens elysium dawn at last !*' 

'"How like the gusty moans of tempest nights 
O'er the broad winter wilderness, that voice 
Ascends ; and what a horrid gleam is fiung 
Along that face of madness, as it turns 
From sea to mountain, and the wild eyes burn 
With revelations of the unborn time ! 
We may not linger — shelter earth denies — 
The very heavens like a gehonna lour — 



CANTO III.] OF POMVKII. 181 

And ocean is our refuge — on — on — on ! 

Yet hark ! the wildest shriek of death ! and lo ! 

The priest falls gasping from the ramparts now — 

The breath of oracles upon his lips, 

The Future's knowledge in his dying heart. 

He reels — pants — gazes on the sulphur light — 

(How like the glare of hell it wraps his form !) 

Expiring, mutters woe — and falls to sleep 

Shroudless in the red burial of the doomed ! 

On to the ocean ! and, far o'er its waves. 

To Rhaetia's home of glaciers — if God wills — 

Look not behind ! a moment gains the shore !" 

So Pansa cried and windlike was their flight. 

The pinnace cleaves the waters ; heaving, black 
And desolate, the dismal billows groan 
And swell the dirges of the earth and sky. 
Upon the bosom of the seay the barque 
Sweeps on in darkness, save when furnace light 
Flares o'er the upturned floods ; and now they pass 
The promontory's cliffs, and o'er the deeps 
Fly like a midnight vision. — From the shores 
Voices in terror cry, and countless shapes 
Now in the lava blaze appear — and now 
Vanish in the fell night, and, far away, 



1 «2 T H E L A S T N I G II T [cANTO III. 

Pliny's lone galleys, dimly from their prows 
Casting their watchlights through the fitful gloom, 
Hear not the implorings of the fugitives. 

THE DEATH-CRIES OF POMPEII. 

FIRST VOICE. 

Hear us ! oh, hear us ! will no God reply ? 

No ear of mercy open to our prayer ? 
Hath utter vengeance throned the accursed sky '( 

And must we perish in this wild despair ? 
Hear us ! oh, hear us ! will no mortal hand 

Succor in horror — pity in our dread ? 
Woe ! Desolation sweeps o'er all the land ! 

Woe ! woe ! earth trembles 'neath the Death-King's tread! 

SECOND VOICE. 

Oh, Fear and Gloom and Madness are around. 

And hope from earth is vain ; 
The sky is blackness — waves of fire, the ground — 
And every's bosom's breath — the pulse of pain. 

Yet let us not deny, 

In shuddering nature's agony, 
The universal and immortal King ! 

But, rather, while we gasp, 

Our dying children closer clasp, [spring ! 

And pass, with them, the wave where blossoms deathless 



CAiVTO in.] OF POMPEII. 1S3 



THIRD VOICE. 

Who bids us sink resigned? 
Who bids us bless the Slayer ? 

And mid the storm of ruin, blind, 
Scorched — blasted — dying — breathe again the spurned- 
back prayer ? 

Let the Creator in his vengeance take 
The life he heaped on men — 

No sigh — no voice — no tear shall slake 
The almighty hatred that could thus condemn ! 

He made us but to die — 
To die yet see our city's burial first — 

And he shall feast upon no wailing cry 
From me : — take what thy wrath has cursed ! 

I yet have power to hate and scorn the might 
That strews the earth with dead in Desolation's night ! 

FOURTH VOICE. 

Blaspheme not in thine anguish ! 

We may not hope to linger, — 
Yet, quickly quenched, we shall not moan and lang lisli 

In wan disease — emaciating pain — 
And living death — when e'en an infant finger 

Would be a burden ! oh, the fiery rain 



1 84 T H E L A S T N I G H T [cANTO Iff 

Comes down and withers and consumes 

The mighty and the weak, 
And not a voice from out yon horrid glooms. 

That shroud the Sarnus and the sea 
Replies to hearts that break 

In agony. 
Yet shut not out the hope elysian, 

And fold not darkness to thy breast ! — 
— My babe ! oh, sweet, most blest and briefest vision ! 

As at thy birthhour, here's thy home of rest — 
My bosom was thy pillow — *t is thy tomb — 

It gave thee life — and, in thine early death. 
Thy latest throbs to mine — 

— Oh, like harp thrillings in thy bliss and bloom. 
While o'er my face stole soft thy odorous breath. 

They touched my spirit with a joy divine ! — 
Thy latest throbs shall be 

The warning that shall waft 
My soul up through the starr'd infinity, 

E'en where the nectar cup is by the Immortals quaft'd. 

FIFTH VOICE. 

And must we die 1 
In being's brightness and the bloom oi" thought ! 

Sepulchred beneath a sunless sky ! 
And all the spirit's godlike pow^ers be— iiouijht ! 



eAJVTO III.] OF POMPEII. 185 

Wail o'er thy doom, fair boy ! 
Shriek thy last sorrow, maiden ! for the doom, 

That o'er earth's tearless joy 
Rolls gory mid the shadows of the tomb ! 

The tomb ! there shall be none 
Save dark-red shroudings of the lava sea — 

The fire shall quench the agonizing groan — 
Moments become — eternity ! 

And must we perish so ? 
Sink, shuddering, thus and gasp our breath in flame ? 

And o'er our unremembered burial flow 
The pomps and pageants of a worthless name ? 

At wonted feasts, no voices shall salute — ■ 
In temple hymns, no soul- breathed strain awake 

Our memories from the realms for ever mute — 
But o'er our graves barbarian kings shall slake 

Their demon thirst of gore — 
And redcross slayers march in bandit ranks, 

From Alp and sea and shore, 
To stain the Asian sands with hordes of slaughtered 
Franks ! 

Wail for the joy that never more shall breathe! 
Wail for the lore and love, tlie bloom and bliss 

That to the ocean world of fire bequeathe 
Their paradise of hope ! and this 

24 



1 80 T n K 1. A S -f A I G li T [cAiN'iO III , 

Must be our only trust— to quickly die — 
And leave the pleasant things of earth behind ; 

Through thousand ages unremembered lie 
Unknown to sunbeam smile or breath of summer wind 1" 

DioMEDE, {I'ushing in.) 

" Away ! bewailers of decrees that bring 

Rest to the grief and restlessness of earth ! 
Away ! pale tremblers mid the dawn of spring 

That o'er the winter of your fate comes forth ! 
What are your woes to his, 

Who from the throne of power beheld the glory — 
Ambition's grandeur, pleasure's bliss, 

Gleam on the Syrian towers like gods in minstrel story ? 
Gone ! gone! why, see ye not the eyes 

Of hell's own Furies glaring through the flame ? 
And hear ye not the wild, deep, dreadful cries 

That caV in curses on the Avenger's name ? 
No barque to bear us o'er the sea ! 

No refuge on the mountain's breast ! 
Earth, time, and hope like unblest shadows flee, 

And death and darkness pall our everlasting rest ! 

What spectre sail sweeps yon ? 

Now in the black night buried — now upon 



rvNTo III.] (> V V o 31 1' r. u. 187 

The billow in the horrid light careering, 
Like a spirit that hath passed 
The glacier and the Lybian blast. 

It feels not human fearing ! 
It flies toward the promontory now — 

The torrent fire of ruin hangs above — 
And earthly forms are standing by the prow. 

Clasped in the arms of love ! 
O Hell of Thought ! and must I — in the fame 

Of sumless wealth and power — sink down and die, 
And, helpless, hopeless, leave the Praetor's name 

To moulder with the herd's beneath 

The mountain monument of death, 

And be a doubt, or mock and scorn 

To fierce barbarians, yet unborn. 
When in the spoiler's lust, they seek the Italian sky ? 

Ay, curse the gods who in their hate created 

The serpent death that gnaws your core of life ! 
E'en in your childhood's beauty, ye were fated 
To writhe, howl, shudder, perish in the strife 
Of elemental agonies, 

As were your sires by ghastly wan disease ; 
And wrath, shame, guilt, despair, remorse and pain, 
Their heritage and testament, have swept 



1 88 T II K LAST IN I G n T [CANTO in. 

Your hearts as vultures sweep the battle plain ! 
Then by the tears unpitied grief hath wept, 
By lone bereavement's wail, 
And Evil's dark ovations, 
Bid universal Ruin hail ! 
And swell Death's monarch march o'er buried nations ! 

For me — as fits the Roman lord, 

When hopeless peril darkens on his way, 
I crave no lingering tortures with the horde 

Who gasp and grovel in the slave's dismay, 
And to the sick and sulphurous air. 

Where Gloom and Fire and Horror dwell, 
Pour out to fiction's gods the unheard prayer, 

And seek in clouds a heaven, to find on earth a hell ! 
Thou one Omnipotent Despair ! 

Whose shadow awes the prostrate world. 
Thou kingly Queller of lamenting care ! 

Oblivion's voiceless home prepare, 
And let Extinction's lightning bolt be hurled ! 

Banished, yet dauntless, doomed but undismayed, 
Least willing, yet without a groan or sigh, 

I go — dark Nemesis ! thou art obeyed ! 
Thou awful Cliflf! the billow's funeral crv 



«?ANTO III.] OF POMPEII 180 

Thrills through my quickened sense, 

That feels with life intense, 
Yet, ere a moment's lapse, this soul shall sleep — 
This form, a sweltering corse, beneath the unsounded 
deep !" 

Thus to the proud heart's last throb breathing out 
Defiance and blaspheming wrath — though wrecked 
And ruined, hurling his terrific thoughts 
Of baffled vengeance to the shuddering heavens — 
A monumental Memnon, sending up 
Death's music to the burning hills of death — 
Upon the extremest edge of awful cliffs. 
That beetled o'er the blackened Ijillows now 
Howling their dirges o'er the expected dead. 
The haughty Prastor stood alone, and flung 
His agonizing spirit's deadliest glance, 
The farewell execrating look of pride, 
XJnquenched by horror, unsubdued by death, 
O'er hill, shore, forest, ocean—earth and heaven ; 
Then, towering like a rebel demigod, 
And to the fierce volcano turning quick 
His brow of fearful beauty, while his lips 
Curved with convulsive curses, o'er the rocks — 
f)own — down the void, black depths, like a bann'd star. 



190 T H T: I. A S T N I O II T [CANTO III. 

(That tosses tlirough the universe, a hell,) 

Or demon from a meteor mountain's brow, 

He plunged and o'er him curled the shivering floods ! 

Meantime, charred corses in one sepulchre 
Of withering ashes lay, and voices rose, 
Fewer and fainter, and, each moment, groans 
Were hushed, and dead babes on dead bosoms lay. 
And lips were blasted into breathlessness 
Ere the death kiss was given, and spirits passed 
The ebbless, dark, mysterious waves, where dreams 
Hover and pulses throb and many a brain 
Swims wild with terrible desires to know 
The destinies of worlds that lie beyond. 
The thick air panted as in nature's death, 
And every breath was anguish ; every face 
Was terror's image, where the soul looked forth, 
As looked, sometimes, far on the edge of heaven, 
A momentary star the tempest palled. 
From ghastlier lips now rose a wilder voice. 
As from a ruined sanctuary's gloom, 
Like savage winds from the Chorasmian waste 
Rushing, with sobs and suffocating screams : 
And thus the last despair had utterance. 



CANrO UI.] OP POM r EI I. I'Jl 

SIXTH VOICE. 

" It bursts ! it bursts ! and thousand thunders blent, 

From the deep heart of agonizing earth, 
Knell, shatter, crash along the firmament, 

And new hells peopled startle into birth, 
Vesuvius sunders ! pyramids of fire 

From fathomless abysses blast the sky ; 
E'en desolating Ruin doth expire. 

And mortal Death in woe immortal die. 
Torrents like lurid gore. 
Hurled from the gulf of horror, pour, 
Like legion fiends embattled to the spoil. 
And o'er the temple domes, 
And joy's ten thousand homes, 
Beneath the whirlwind hail and storm of ashes boil. 

The surges, like coil'd serpents, rise ■ 

From midnight caverns of the deep, 

And writhe around the rocks, 

That shiver in the earthquake's shocks, 

And through the blackness of fear's mysteries. 

Chained Titans from their beds of torture leap, 

And o'er the heavens Eumenides 
Seek parting souls for prey— 



192 THE LAST MIGHT [CANTOXU. 

Oh God ! that on these dark and groaning seas 
Would soar one other day ! 
Vain is the mad desire, 
Darkness, convulsion, fire, 
Infernal floods, dissolving mountains, fold 

The helpless children of woe, sin and Time — 
O'er fiery wrecks hath Desolation rolled. 
The Infinite Curse attends the finite crime I 

No melancholy moon to gaze 

With dim cold light remote ! 
No star, through stormy spheres, with holy rays. 

O'er dying eyes, like hope of heaven, to float I 
No spot — the oasis of the waste above — 

Whose still, sweet beauty glistens 
Through clouds that heave and riot in wild masses, 

Breaks on the breaking heart ! no seraph listens 
In blue pavilions, while the spirit passes. 

And o'er the dreariest waters bears. 
Beyond the unburied's desert shore. 

To skies ambrosial and elysian airs, 
Where e'en the awful Destinies adore ! 

No tenderness from lips, 
Blackened and swoln and gasping, steals 

Amidst the soul's eclipse ; 



CANTO m.] OF I'OMPJEII. 193 

Each, in the soUtudo oi" misery, feels, 

Ineffable, his own despair, 
And sinks unsolaced, unsolacing, down, 

O 'ercanopied by sulphurous air, 
Palled, tombed by seas that terror's last cry drown ! 

Oh, still the piteous cry 

Mounts up the heavens — " fly ! fly !" 

" Whither ?" the billows roar 

Among the wrecks and rent crags of the shore. 

" Whither ?" the Volcano's voice 

Repeats, bidding pale death rejoice. 

Oh, Hope with madness dwells, 
And love of life creates the worst of deaths ; 

Hark ! World to world ten thousand voices swells — 
" Resign your breaths !" 
We die ; the sinner with the sinless dies, 

The bud, the flower, the fruit corruption wastes, 
Childhood and hoar age blend their agonies. 

Destruction o'er the earth — the missioned slayer hastes.'' 

Swiftly along the Psestan gulf before 
The Alpine gale, scudded the Christians' barque ; 
Night veiled Lucania's rugged shore but oft 
The dreadful radiance oi' the firemount hung 

25 



IM TllK J, AST NIBIIT [CANTO lU. 

* • 

Upon the mightiest -Apennines, and there 

"^he giant difFs, hoar forest trees, and glens 

Of cataracts — ^gleamed on the fear-charmed eye, 

Distinct though distant ; and Salernum'? crags 

Spurned the chafed sea that rushed before the prow. 

**Lo ! Pliny's galleys speed to aid at last!" 

Said Pansa, gazing through the meteor light, 

Towards the Sarnus and the victim host. 

"AH shall not perish; oars and sails bear on 

The Roman armament — and now, in hope 

Renewed exulting, from the dust upspring 

A thousand prostrate shapes, and on the rocks 

Lift their scorched hands, and shout (though we hear not) 

The late rescuers on ; yet many a heart 

Will throb and thrill no more, but buried lie, 

Like its own birthplace, till oblivion rests 

On the Campanian cities and their guilt. 

— Salernum's rocks for ever from our gaze 

Hide the dark scene of trial, and we leave, 

With swelling canvass, Rome's imperial realm, 

Where Christian faith shall, like the sandal tree, 

Impart its odor to the fellers axe, 

To seek a hermitage in wilds afar. 

— Now, as we hasten, let our spirits soar 

To Him who shelters when the avenger slays !'" 



CANTO III.] O F P O M P E 1 1. 1 9i» 

THE FAREWELL OF THE CHRISTIANS. 

PANSA. 

"Alone, in darknfess, on the deep, 

Spirit of Love ! redeemed by thee, 
While fear its watch o'er ruin keeps, 

Thy grace our sign and shield, we flee. 
The billows burst around our barque, 

The death streams roll and burn behind — 
Thy mercy guides our little ark. 

Thy breath can swell or hush the wind. 
Thy footsteps ruffled not the wave 

When drowning voices shrieked for aid — ^ 
The cavern'd billow yawn'd — a grave — 

" Be still !" it heard Thee and obeyed I 
From idol rites and tyrant power, 

Now o'er the midnight sea we fly — 
Be with us through our peril's hour ! 

Saviour ! with Thee we cannot die ! 

MARIAMNE. 

•« To men a mocked and homeless stranger. 
Thy truth, love, grace and goodness blest 

The world, whose first gift was a manger, 
Whose last, the Cross ! no down of rest 



1 9() T H E L A S T N I O H T [CANTO III. 

Pillowed, O Christ ! thy holy head, 

No crown, but thorns, Thy temples wreathed, 
Yet Thou the Death King captive led. 

And through the tomb a glory breathed ! 
The scorner all Thy love reviled. 

Thy path was pain, thy kingdom, shame, 
Yet sorrow on thine aspect smiled. 

E'en Death revered Thy deatiiless name ! 
The bittern moans where Zion stood. 

The serpent crawls where nations trod — 
Be with us on the mountain flood ! 

Fill our dim hearts with light from Gon 1 

Tin; M.UDEX OF rOMPEII. 

" The flame, that wrapt my cliildhood's bowers,, 

Itevcaled Thee to my darkened mind ; 
Thee whom e'en sybils, seers and powers 

Of Night in Delphi's grove divined ; 
With the dim glimpse of shadowed thought,. 

They saw the Atoner's form of light. 
Yet pale doubt sighed o'er visions wrought, 

The idol world still walked in night. 
Now paynim dreams of dread no more. 

The feigned response, the rnagi's charms, 
O'erawe and on my spirit pour 

The torturer's spells, the tomb's alarms.. 



CANTO 111,1 OF POMPUII. 1*.?7 

On starlight wings, through blooming air, 

Hope unto heaven bears human love ; 
Doubt, grief, lone tears, remorse, despair 

Haunt not the soul's ovi^n home above. 
My chill heart cheered by thoughts like these, 

Far from my ruined bowers 1 roam ; 
Thy love lights up the midnight seas. 

Thy smile is earth's most heavenly home ! 

TITIJ OLD CHRISTIAN. 

" Dimmer, like hoary years that bring 

Life's winter, v/anes the volcan's glare ; 
Destruction furls his meteor wing. 

Watching the desei t of despair ! 
Now far before, the ^olian Isles 

Send up their vassal fires, but still, 
Where fair Trinacria's Hybla smiles, 

Darkness sits throned on ^Etna's hill. 
Soon, by Sicilia's whirlpool streight, 

Our barque shall seek the Ionian sea, 
And o'er blue Adria, pagan hate 

To Rhastian hills hunt not the free ! 
The sun, with beams that bloom, shall soar, 

And vineyard, vale, hillside and grove, 
^ca, mountain, meadow, isle and shore 

Bask in voluptuous lights of love. 



198 T U E L A S T M O II T [cANTO III. 

Yet darker ruin must descend, 

Which man alone on man may rain, 
And locust king and harlot fiend 

With the heart's wrecks strew mount and plain. 
Away ! the grave's wild shadows swim 

O'er my pale eve of autumn days ; 
Away ! the wild to harp and hymn 

Like sphere-voiced choirs, shall breathe, O Christ ! Thy 
love and praise !" 

'T is summer's tenderest twilight, and the woods 
Glow like an inner glory of the mind, 
And rills, vcining the verdure, and among 
Vines, rose lippM (lowers and odorous shrubs in mirth 
And music dancing, purl from fountains known 
But to the gnomes and kobalds of the Alps — 
Mysterious springs, o'er which eternal night 
Watches and weeps in solitude, her tears 
Mingling, at last, with the green ocean deeps. 
Brightness and beauty, love and blessedness 
Breathe on each other's bosoms, while afar, 
From jagged cliffs the torrent cataract 
Hymns the Omnipotent ; and from the brows 
Of desolate peaks ice-diademed, which thought 
Alone may climb, the mountain avalanchr. 



C;>VKTO HI.] OF P O M P K I I. 109 

Vast Rain, falls and with it ruin bears. 

All else is loneliness, beauty and love, 

Ve ce and a hallowed stillness, and the souls 

Of the lone mountain dwellers, in the hush 

Of solitude and nature's majesty, 

Partake the sanctity and power around. 

The sunbow o'er precij)itated floods — 

The ice-lakes, and ravines where chaos dwells 

And desolation ; flowers beneath snow-hills, 

Where the great sun looks wan — the mightiest pincg. 

Rooted in chasms, that o'er the unfathomed gorge 

Hang, wave and murmur — vales of paradise. 

That smile upon suspended horror — all 

With memories and oracles and dreams, 

Time's hopes, eternity's imaginings, 

Infinity's vast grandeur, the meek love 

Of birthplace home, — the boundlessness of power^ 

The holiness of earth's reliance — fill 

The awed and yet exultant intellect ! 

Flowered fields and harvests bloom around the door 
Of a lone forest cottage, and amidst 
The Eden of the wild a hoary head 
Is lifted and the wan lips move in prayer. 
Around,. three beings kneel in thought o'erawed, 



2d0 THE J/ AST MGHT, <Sc( . [cANTO III. 

Vesper responses breathing from high hearts, 
The ordt'al of the payniin sternly proved — 
And Echo wiiispers in the clefted rocks. 

From meek adorings and communing love, 
Then rose they, not as worshippers arise 
In latter days of evil, with proud eyes 
And minds revenge corrodes, but violet-like. 
And gentle as the dawn breath of sweet May. 
Patient, serene and robed in holy thoughts. 

Bayspring and dewbeam, thus, year after year, 
Dawned and departed, and the seasons had 
Their own peculiar joys in Pansa's home. 
And there — the Roman Convert's testament — 
The storm-nursed heritors of Faith, blasphemed. 
Throned Liberty on Alpine pinnacles, 
And bade her temple be the Switzer hills. 
There in love worshipped, there with hoar hairs died 
The Christians, but the deathless spirit Rome 
Gave to her son, and Mariamne's heart, 
Bequeathed — in Freedom and God's holy Law, 
With tyrant Wrong warred through Guilt's thousand 
years. 



LAYS AND LEGENDS. 



5fi 



LAYS AND LEGENDS. 



THE LAY OF THE FATHERLESS. 

Thou! that in pangs didst give me mortal birth, 
Nourish my helplessness at thy life's spring, 
And hear me gently o'er the desert earth 
Upon thy bosom till my thoughts took wing ! 
Thou ! that in days of deepened grief, didst fling 
The mornlight of thy smile, thy voice of joy 
O'er my quick spirit, till each human thing 
Glowed with the outbreaking glory of the sky, 
And o'er the bosom gushed of thy devoted boy ! 

In pain and peril, when thy years were few. 
And Death's vast shadow on thy pathway fell. 
Thou to the greatness of thy trial grew, 
Bade fortune, mirth and cherished hope farewell, 



Ji04 li A V S AND 1. t U E A 1» S. 

Resigned, for me, with sorrow long to dwell ! 
Thy sleepless eye my daring steps pursued, 
Thy lone heart o'er my guarded couch did swell. 
And o'er thy child's untrodden solitude 
Thy thoughts like seraphs flew, the messengers of Good. 

That harrowed brow, once smooth as Parian stone, 
That hollow eye, erst filled with Love's own light, 
Dimmed by the gloom thro' memory's temple thrown — 
That pale cheek, writ in characters of night. 
That wasted form, which, ere the hour of blight, 
Stood proudly up in worshipped loveliness — 
All to my soul reveal the charm and might 
Of deathless Love, that dares unsoothed distress, 
And from the shrine of Truth can guide and shield and 
bless. 

Should I forget tlie heart that never quailed, 
Nor shrunk from fast and vigil for my sake : 
Could I forget the faith that never failed, 
The solitary star on youth's wild wake : 
Justly my Maker from my soul would take 
The hope that wings me to a heaven of light. 
And leave me in the waste alone to slake 
The death-thirst, burning through the mornless night. 
Uf tlic scared heart that loved not Love in its dclifflit. 



LAYS ANU ££U£]VVS. 205 

Bereaved of all that gave thy being bliss, 
Save one unfortuned and unfriended child. 
Without thy crown of gladness, and the kiss 
Of wed affection cheering through the wild. 
Thy spirit on my saddened seasons smiled ; 
Thou in my being didst condense thine own, 
While poverty assailed and power beguiled, 
And sickness made in solitude its moan — 
And can 1 e'er forget what thou hast dared and done '^. 

Can matin orison and vesper hymn, 
Soaring when slept earth's dagon soul of guile, 
E'er cease to thi'ill, while shades of sorrow swim, 
Memory, whose thoughts with thine own look now smile'^ 
Can twilight meadow and hushed temple aisle 
Cease to enchant and hallow with their songs ? 
Or commune with wood, mount, vale, stream, the while. 
Pass from my spirit 'mid ihe world's deep wrongs ? 
Thy wisdom triumphs o'er life's vain vindictive throngs. 

Beauty in loneliness her image wrought 
Within my wrapt unsolac'd bosom — thou 
Ledst grandeur to the still throne of my thought, 
And badst me drink heaven's waters from the broAv 



2i}i) LAYS AKl) LUGJENUS. 

Of the hoar giant precipice ! and now, 
Albeit, men skill not to scan me right, 
Thy lessons lead me, as by palmer vow. 
Through trial, toil, hate, grief, the watching night, 
And weary day, like them who tracked the Horeb light. 

Yet this is but a portion of my debt, 
My Mother ! thou amidst my foes hast stood, 
As, in his eyrie, when the air is jet 
With wings of obscene birds and beaks of blood. 
The eagle stands — lord of the solitude ! 
Their shafts have broken on thy bosom — thou 
Hast grasped the arrows — struggled with the flood — 
Borne more than all my sufferings, and liv'st now 
To bear day's toil for me and those that round me^|prt)w. 

And can this be forgotten ? can I shrink 
To brand the mortal demon who shall dare 
To doubt thy matchless love ? and from the brink. 
Dragged from the vile crypt of his serpent lair. 
Hurl him blaspheming in his writh'd despair? 
No ! thou hast dared the torrent — trod the waste 
Through life for me — and, witness earth and air ! 
The heart, that but for thee to dust had passed. 
Shall bleed, ere venom more upon thy truth is cast I 



I^ A Y S W I> LEGENDS. 207 

Let thy foes wither in the worthlessness, 
The scorn of coward vengeance ! that the name 
Of thine assailer in thy long distress 
Fitted the Ups of even a moment's fame ! 
Oh, on his brow the infamies of shame, 
Branded by agonies should fall and rot 
Into his heart and brain till earth should claim 
No portion of his vileness, but his lot 
Be with corruption which in death decayeth not ! 

Let the fiend hear ! he hath not checked my thought — 
My heritage was sorrow and hath been. 
Yet poverty and grief not vain have wrought, 
x\.nd I can scorn and pass the base unseen, 
And deem their malice, jest, howe'er they ween ! 
But there shall come a time — 't is but delayed — 
When ye, forgers of falsehood ! cannot screen 
Your bosoms from the lightning ! ye have made 
The storm your couch — and ye shall lie there mocked 
and flayed. 

For they, the loving and beloved, whom hate 
Hath hunted from the birth of being, bear 
My burthen, and the trials of my fate, 
Because vour calumnies defile the air ! 



208 LAYS AND LEGENns, 

And shall ye be forgotten ? when the fair 
And matchless forms of earth, sea, heaven and mind. 
Have worn the wan looks of a sick despair. 
And 1 have wandered Hke the homeless wind. 
Foreboding doubt before and many woes behind ! 

Hope not oblivion ! e'en your bread is bought 
With lies , a libel press pours out the bane 
That in your rank heart festers ; ye have sought 
The spoils of long revenge, and by the pain 
Ye round my household hearth have shed, your gain 
Shall be — Derision ; and in future time, 
When earth casts up your names and deeds profane, 
Rotting in curses, o'er your dastard crime, 
The shouts of hell shall roll and hail ye to its clime ! 



LAYS A N 19 1. E G K IV » S. "iOl* 



HIPPIAS, THE TRAITOR OP MARATHON. 

Hipparchus and Ilippias, called the Pisistratidae, the sons 
of Pisistratus, who during the latter years of Solon, through 
artifice and treachery, acquired the sovereignty of Athens, by 
many acts of arbitrary exaction and cruelty, had awaked the 
vengeance of the Athenians. Harmodius and Aristogiton led 
the revolt, (indeed the inhabitants of Athens had never acknow- 
ledged the authority of Pisistratus or his sons,) and slew Hip- 
parchus, while Hippias escaped into the castle of the Acropolis, 
and exercised, for three years after, the most atrocious severities 
upon all, whom by fraud or violence, he could seize and tor- 
ture. I have supposed Harmodius dead, and Aristogiton living, 
till the battle of Marathon, though the anachronism is obvious 
enough. Clisthenes, who contributed so much to expel Hip- 
pias, afterwards invented the ostracism, and was himself the 
first sufferer. The Panathenea, which the Athenians are sup- 
posed to be celebrating, in the first part of the Poem, was the 
most splendid festival of Attica : and the month Hecatombaeon, 
in which it was solemnized, being the period of the accession 
of the Archons and Thesmotheta; to office, would naturally 
awaken the people to the assertion of their rights. 

Autumnal twilight on the Zephyr's wing 
Hovered o'er Athens, and its iris hues 
Blended with ether's vestal blue, breathed o'er 
By the favonian airs, and with the clouds 
Pavilioned in the heavens, or diamond stars 
Now in their lustrous beauty coming forth. 
The myrtle and rose-flowered acacia flung 
27 



''liO LAYS AND LEG KM) S. 

T' eiv vespor fragrance on the mellow breeze; 
The illumined sea, dimpling with smiles, sent up 
The gentlest music to the parting light 
And dawning Pleiades, and, man might dream, 
The tritons with Poseidon, in a heaven 
Beneath the emerald billows, mid strange flowers, 
O'erclustering coral temples, dwelt and sung. 
The vales of Arcady, from meads of thyme 
And hallowed fountains, for dim oracles 
Renowned, uplifted evening orisons, 
With forest hymns of the hoar hills, whose brows 
Gleamed in the earliest and latest light. 
Rejoicing in the loveliness of eve. 
And many a woodland pipe and cithern hailed 
Familiar constellations, as the blaze 
Of the divine Hyperion left the skies 
To the dominion of Love's blessed stars- 
Yet 'mid the pomp of luxuries, within 
Athena's citadel, in broidered robes. 
And tossing on his purple banquet couch 
In torture, lay the racked but noble form 
Of one who cursed the sunlight, and shut out 
The holy influences of the heaven, 
TiOathing the beauty passion in his soul 



L A \ S AND I. K G E iV l> S. "J 1 1 

Had darkened with its midnight, and in wrath 

Shunning the spirit of magnificence 

He felt not in his bosom's depth of gloom. 

Among the splendors of a power, erewhile 

By treachery grasped, yet ministered with thoughts 

Of grandeur, lay the last, least-gifted heart 

Whose pulses bounded with the glowing blood 

Of Pisi stratus : o'er his lofty brow. 

And lips of beauty — which disdained the soul 

That mocked them with its weak and evil powers — 

The chill dews of an agony, that shook 

Aside the veil that masked it to the world, 

Gushed, and in dark lines o'er his countenance 

The tempest of a foiled ambition fell. 

From burnished shield, statue and gleaming lance, 

Gem-hilted sabre and the pictured tomes 

Of Scio's deathless bard, and all the pomp 

Of pillared porticoes, he turned and breathed 

Quick, panting execrations, as the breeze 

Rustled the olives of the Parthenon, 

Or with the orange leaves, like oreads, playerl. 

Listening with the intensest hope and fear, 

He rose upon the couch and forward leaned ; 

His pale lips writhed as if their scorpion curves 

Could fill his curse with venom — and his brow. 



*^12 LAYS AND LEGENDS. 

Convulsed by pangs of guilt, e'en now in youtii 
Burned with the ghastly light of blasted fame. 

" The Egyptian could not err — the Acropolis 
Hath never fail'd its master ! yet the yells 
Of the wild faction — the dust-eaters — daunt 
3'Iy spirit — and I feel the spear- point glide 
Along my heart, whene'er Hipparchus' doom 
Darkens the mirror of fierce memories !" 
Thus in his solitude the tyrant spake. 
" A footfall echoes on the corridor 1 
Was't not a voice beneath ? he comes to bring 
The soldiers of the isles unto my aid. 
Ay, shout, and shriek, and with your torchlight glare » 
Aifright the heavens, ye faithless herd of serfs ! 
I know ye merciless — can I be less ? 
Howl in your wild Panathenea, howl ! 
Your festival may close with unhoped feasts, 
Your saturnalia with the clank of chains ! 
My trusted Medon comes with tidings fit 
To soothe my ear shocked by your Tcian oaths. 
A nearer step — and a white banner borne 
Proudly — he comes with succor in his smile !'* 
A lofty shadow crossed the vestibule. 
And in the purple twilight silent stood 



T. AYS AND LEGENDS. *il3 

Before the tyrant, who but ill discerned 
Through the vast hall of revelries the face 
That with a marble sternness searched his soul. 
" Speak, Medon ! will the isles avenge our cause, 
And crush the rebel slaves that seek our death ?" 

" Gaze with a better judgment, Hippias ! once 
Clothed with a power thou dost no longer hold. 
Thou seest no Medon ! but the herald-king 
Of the Amphyctions — who thus, from them 
Bids thee resign the citadel, and part 
For ever from the shores thy crimes have cursed — 
Or struggle with the vengeance thou hast raised !" 

" Ha ! 't is a gracious message, and I thank 
The artizans of Athens for their love ; 
But what my father builded and the blood 
Of bold Hipparchus sanctified, 1 keep ; 
Daring the Thesmothetoe and their host 
Of burden-bearers in their worst assault." 

" The oppressor skills not in the lore of life. 
His grandeur is the sea-foam — and his power 
The gossamer a zephyr bears away. 
Beware thy answer, 't is the very last 



;214 LAVS AND LEGENDS. 

The desperation of the land allows. 

Hast thou forgot Lensea on the rack ? 

She spat her gory tongue at thee, and died 

Defying tyrants to make traitors, son 

Of the destroyer of the chainless Right ! 

Aristogiton and brave Clisthenes 

May teach thee wisdom ere thy Medon comes !" 

" And I may teach it thee, unmannered siave 
Of men, who, while they envy me, aspire 
To gain the masterdom by fawns and smiles 
Flung on the vile democracies of Greece ! 
The trusted may betray — the ruthless foe 
Assail — and famine be my only guest — 
Danger my only guard — despair, the pulse 
That throbs me on to death — but I to none 
Will render back my heritage ! away !" 

" One word, proud Ilippias ! thou may'st depart 
With thine own Rhodope and all thy wealth. 
To any realm thou wilt — but hear me, lord ! 
Aristogiton with l'lata)an troops 
Leads on the squadrons of brave Clisthenes ! 
The Spartan and the Alcmoeonidfc 
Are banded with Arcadia to o'erwhclm — '' 



LAVS AND I^KSBNUS. 215 

" And let them come ! it shall be joy, whate'er 
The gods resolve, to dip my hand in hearts 
That clove my brother's : Did I rightly hear — 
Aristogiton ? that thy place were his ! 
I would .ibscind a whole Olympiad 
From being but to quench that thirst ! he slew 
Hipparchus ! and he will be deified ! 
If ghosts are gods, my hand should make him one ! 
Away 1 begone ! the citadel is mine 1" 

Slowly the herald, spurning the dust, retired 
Unto the assembling host that through the gates 
Poured o'er the city, while thronged galleys lay 
In the Pira3us, and the cries of wi:ath 
From the Munychian fortress hastened on 
The assaulters of the tyrant's citadel. 
That night, festivities and liberal mirth, 
Accustomed at the nation's gayest feast, 
When all in Athens banqueted and sang. 
Wanted their worshippers ; for human hearts. 
Goaded and gashed by wanton tyranny, 
Hurled their oppressions and oppressors forth. 
And robed their wounds with justice ! every clime 
Hath had its crowned and sceptred torturers, 
Its diadems and dungeons — every clime 



261 LAYS AND LEGENDS. 

May have its armed avengers, if the mind 

Feels its immortal majesty, and bathes 

The brand of bondage with the monarch's tears. 

The battle-cries — the rush — the trumpet's voice — 
The glare of torchlight combat — the dismay 
And triumph — dinted shields and shattered helms — 
And broken palisades, and trampled halls 
Of desolated splendor — all are o'er ! 
Deserted in his peril by the shades 
Of his past glory, Hippias, through the gloom 
Of tangled wilds and shaggy caverns, groped 
His lonely path to banishment — amidst 
The forests, crags and torrents and defiles 
Of his wronged country — on tiie toppling peak. 
And in the voiceless grotto — danger — fear, 
And hopelessness and hunger, breathing one, 
One deep, remorseless passion, born of Hate 
And Agony — Revenge ! Revenge for all ! 
With ravening thirst of vengeance, borne for years, 
Through mountain gorges and o'er deserts fled 
The banished Hippias to the eastern king. 

Amidst the beauty and magnificence, 
The pomp and perfumes of the Sophi's court 




LAYS AND LEGENDS. 217 

The outcast tyrant bow'd, while satraps laid 
Their foreheads in the dust and magi waved, 
From golden censers, odors o'er the throne 
Of Persia's King, in conquered Babylon. 
The diamond diadem, the Tyrrhene robes 
Girded by broidered zones of gems and gold, 
The violet colored turbans thronging round 
The sceptre that awed Asia, and the dread 
Of the adoring crowd — o'er Hippias threw 
No fear and veneration fitting herds 
Who grovel through the gloom of vassalage. 
To breathe a glory they can never share. 
Might, majesty, the usages of kings. 
Palace and temple, and the matchless mind 
Of Greece had left the unsceptred wanderer now 
■JN^o admiration of barbaric pomp. 

" What wouldst thou, son of Pisistratus ?" said 
Royal Hystaspes. — "Refuge and Revenge !" 
Replied the unfaltering prince. — " The first is thine. 
In Susa, by Choaspes, or the bowers 
Of fair Persopolis — or any dome 
Of all our empire that hath held a king, 
Till such time as the greatness of our cares 
Permits us further to discourse of thine. 

28 



^i 8i LAYS A i\ 1) i. E U E N U S. 

Thou shall not lack our solace for the woes 
llevolt hath stirred within thy bosom, Prince ! 
Nor our fit aid to wrest from rebel hordes 
A ransom such as Babylon has paid 
For treason and Zopyras — when time serves. 
Thou comest not alone ?" 

" My Rhodope, 
For we are childless, is the only charm 
That lingers round my desolated path. 
Great sovereign of the Orient ! and she, 
Worn by our perilled flight, awaits, in grief. 
The edict of the monarch's gracious will.'* 

'' O Mythra ! doth it come to this, at last ? 
That a frail woman — like a summer cloud 
Upon the desert, is the only shade 
For the brave man in agony — the flower 
That with its fragrant leaves shadows the brow 
Which burns in Passion's fever — that our pride 
And pleasure and renown and majesty 
Are vanities beneath her starlight smile ! 
Well, thou art happy, Hippias ! in thy love. 
(Jhoose from our regal mansions as thou wilt — 
And Peace, like the cool fountain's music, shed 
Her gladness round thee till we meet again !" 



LAVS AND li E f J E \ D S. 219 

When Freedom, plirenzied by the scorn and wrong 

Of purple power, tears from the place of guilt 

The Atlas of the crushed heart's agonies 

The sceptre trembles in each monarch hand 

O'er the glad earth — the brightest crown-gems fade, 

And battled legions — mercenary hosts — 

Are cast like avalanches, o'er the realm 

That doubts the archangel sanctitude of kings. 

So goodly sympathies expand, and crimr 

Becomes impolicy, and shedded blood 

Lamented chance, and princely palaces 

In other kingdoms shield the despot, cells 

Of darkness in his own should carcerato. 

Time is but thought; and o'er the ill or good. 
It flies or lingers as their spirits will, 
Soothing misfortune, or to nurtured hate, 
Adding dark torrents of feigned injuries. 
Years drearily meandered o'er the heart 
Of Hippias amidst the loveliest bloom 
And verdare of the lote and myrtle groves, 
The Aurora and the vesper hymn of streams. 
The chequered shadows of the Zagros hills, 
The magic, love, romance and revelries 
Of bis own beautiful and frlitterinsr home. 



~5i50 LAYS AND LEGENDS. 

Humiliation panted for revenge — 

Shame summoned demon pride — lost powers called up 

The faded apparitions of his hour 

Of homage and dominion ; and he sued 

By starbeam and by sunlight, through the years 

Of banishment, to satraps at his feasts. 

And princes in their palaces to lead 

The vast hosts of the east against the land 

Where, tyraat once and traitor now, his soul 

Exalted to inflict its hoarded wrath. 

His head was hoary and his countenance 

Trench'd o'er, and charrd by evil thoughts, ere fortli 

The heralds of the Medes and Persians passed, 

To bid Arcadia to the Persian bow. 

And Hippias buried time, till one returned. 

"Brings't thou the earth and water? fear they not?" 

Astarte save me ! I alone am left ; 

The Grecians hurled my fellows from the rocks 

Into the abysses — saying * Take your fill !' " 

Mocked thus, Darius paused not, but arrayed 
His armies for the conquest, and the waves 
Of the Euphrates heard the shouts and songs 
Of thousands following thousands to the war. 
The barbs of Araby and towered elephants 



In 



LAYS AND LEGENDS. 

Bore dusky chieftains panoplied ; the waste 
And mountain pass and plain with silken tents 
And costliest pavilions, pillowed round, 
Seemed an enchanted land ; and instruments 
Of softest music breathed their harmonies 
On the spread camp and scattered wanton march. 
Emblazoned sliields no blood had ever dimmed, 
And mirrored helmets ne'er a sword had left 
A hero's witness on — and garments soiled 
By no wild combat or untented sleep. 
Glittered and waved around the royal pomp. 
Beside the monarch in the centre rode 
The mover of this pageantry, and oft 
The doubting mind of Hippias, as he cast 
His troubled glances o'er the motley host, 
Betrayed the fear that, like a thraldom brand, 
Seared his proud heart ; yet dared he not arraign 
The satrap's vaunted skill in high command. 
So on they passed, and o'er the ^Egean swept 
The galleys of the Persian, and his bands, 
Like sundered glaciers, poured upon the plain 
Of deathless Marathon, leaving behind 
Dark solitudes of smouldering flame and gore. 
There stood Miltiades, mid the armed hearts 
Of Arcady, and in the bristling van 



221 



222 I. A Y S A N D LEGENDS. 

Of the Plataeans towered an aged form, 
Unbroken by the harvest years of joy 
And virtue ; and the same heroie eye 
Watched the o'ercrowding foe, that erst, along 
The hallowed blade flashed on the cloven heart 
Of dead Hipparchus ; and the traitor's brow 
Felt the pale shadows of the sepulchre, 
As he beheld Aristogiton there ! 

Let me not feign a picture of that fight ! 
The sanctities of ages shroud its deeds. 
It's name is glory, and the hero's fame, 
Shrined in the pantheon of deathless thought ! 
It thrills the soul of childhood and inspires 
The sage, the warrior, and the statesman, when 
All other fields of triumph pass away ! 

The earth became a reservior of blood, 
And carnage loathed its banquet, ere the waves 
Of war bore Hippias, crimsoned with the gore 
Of his betrayed and groaning country, near 
Its terrible avenger. " Art thou come, 
Hoar tyrant traitor ! to iuAokc thy doom 
From him who gashed thy brother's perjured heart ? 
And heard Harmodius, in his torture, name 

\. If 



LAYS AND LEGENDS. '^^'J 

Thy parasites, his fellows in the death ? 
Come ! let the trophy of my best days be 
Thy head, upon the shield, that shall not save 
Thy bosom — when thy country bids thee die !" 

He grasped — he hurled him from his plunging steed — 
And, linked like maddened scorpions they strove, 
And on the earth struggled in the wild might 
Of merciless and all-redeeming hate. 
Aristogiton is above him now ! 
Strike for thy country ! strike for human kind ! 
The sabre searched the tyrant's vitals then ! 
Ha ! the blood bubbles from the ruthless heart ! 
Again — one other blow for Liberty! 
Why roll thine eye-balls, patriot ? oh, the blade 
Of Hippias, by his dying anguish driven 
With all his living hate, is in thy heart ! 
The red streams mingle — the deep rattling voice 
Of Death exults in this last wild Revenge, 
And the low prayer of gratitude, and sigh 
Of love flow from the stiffening lips that breathed 
Their latest blessing on Arcadia's realm. 
And there, at eve, the searchers of the dead. 
Locked breast to breast, and palled in darkened blood, 
The tyrant and the avenging patriot found. 



^24 JLAYS AND LBGENDS. 



TO MY DAUGHTER GENEVIEVE. 

Star of my being's early night ! 

Tender but most triumphant flower ! 
Frail form of dust and heavenly light ! 

Rainbow of storms that round me lower ! 
Of tested love the pledge renewed, 

The milder luminary given 
To guide me through earth's solitude, 

To Love's own home of bhss in heaven ! 

Heiress of Fate ! thy soft blue eye 

Throws o'er the earth its brightness now. 
As sunlight gushes from the sky 

In glory o'er the far hill's brow ; 
And light from thine ethereal home 

On every sinless moment lingers, 
As hope, o'er happier days to come. 

Thrills the heart's harp with viewless fingers. 

For, from the fount of Godhead, thou, 
A ray midst myriads wandering down. 

Still wear'st upon that stainless brow 
The seraph's pure and glorious crown : 



'J' 



1< A Y S A N 1> L E a K N D S. 225 

Still — from thy Maker's bosom taken 

To bear thy trial time below, 
Like sunlight flowers, by winds unshaken. 

The dews of heaven around thee glow. 

Hours o'er thy placid spirit pass 

Like forest streams that glide and sing. 
When through the fresh and fragrant grass 

Breathes the immortal soul of spring ; 
And through the realms of thy blest dreams, 

Thy high mysterious thoughts of Time, 
Heaven's watchers roam by Eden streams, 

And hail thee, Love ! in hymns sublime. 

But these bright days will vanish, Love ! 

And thou wilt learn to weep o'er truth. 
And with a saddened spirit prove 

That bliss abides alone with youth. 
Cares may corrode that lovely cheek. 

And fears convulse that gentle heart, 
j.\nd agonies, thou dar'st not speak. 

Deepen as childhood's hours depart. 
29 



22ki LAYS AND 1.BGENDS. 

And thou, fair child ! as years descend 

In darkness on thy desert track, 
May'st tread thy path without a friend, 

Gaze on through tears, through shadows back, 
And sigh unheard by all who stood 

Around thee on a happier day, 
And struggle with the torrent flood, 

That sweeps thy last pale hope away. 

O'er the soft light of that blue eye 

Clouds of wild gloom may quickly gather, 
As, ere the sunburst of his sky 

The tempest fell around thy father; 
And mid the world's blind wealth and pride. 

The chill of crowds, life's restless stir, 
Thou may'st unknown with grief abide, 

Lone as the sea of Anadir. 

And thou wilt grow in beauty, love ! 

While I am mouldering in the gloom. 
And like the summer rill and grove. 

Sigh a brief sorrow o'er my tomb ; 
And thou wilt tread the same wild path 

Of mirth and madness all have trod 
Since time gave birth to sin and wrath — 

Till from the dust thou soar to Go» ! 



I, A V S AND L E « F. ^ I> S. 227 

Doubts may assail thy soul, and woes 

Gather into a burning chain, 
And round thy darkened spirit close 

Mid loneliness, disease and pain, 
When I no more can watch and guard 

Thy daily steps, thy nightly rest, 
Nor with the strength of sorrow, ward 

Earth's evil from thy spotless breast. 

Fed by the dust that gave thee breath, 

Wild flowers may bloom above my grave. 
And sigh in every night breeze, Death, 

When thou shalt shriek for me to save ! 
The bosom, from whose fount thy lips 

The nectar drew of bliss below. 
May moulder in the soul's eclipse. 

And leave thee to thy friendless woe. 

Ambition's lures — the destinies 

Proud passion shapes and calls them Fate's, 
Far wilder billows than the sea's, 

(Man but for evil power creates). 
May cast between thy gentle love 

And thy loved brother's high career — 
A barrier like the Mount of Jove — 

The parting of a hemisphere. 



22i LAYS AN!) I. Ji G K M> S. 

And wiles and snares and sorceries, 

Will spread beneath thy feet, and stain 
Thy spirit with their glittering lies. 

Till phantom bliss doth end in pain; 
And thou must feel and fear and hide 

The doubts that gloom, the pangs that gnaw, 
And o'er a wreck'd heart wear the pride, 

That casts on guilt an angel awe. 

Yet dread not thou, my Genevieve ! 

The ills allowed, allotted here — 
Nor waste thy soul in thoughts that grieve — 

The trembling sigh, the burning tear ! 
Mind builds its empire on the waste — 

And virtue triumphs in despair — 
The guiltless woe of being past 

Is future glory's deathless heir. 

Beware the soil of thoughts profane, 

The fluent speech of skill'd design, 
Passion that ends in nameless pain. 

And fiction drawn from fashion's mine ! 
He, who so wildly shadows out 

The darkest passions of our sin, 
Draws the dark bane, he strews about. 

From the deep fount of guilt within. 



LAYS AND L Ji G E N » S. 220 

The Anointeh keep thee, sinless child ! 

Be on thy path, the Paraclete ! 
Through dreary wold and desert wild 

The Giver guide thy little feet! 
Like buds that bloom as blown flowers fall, 

New hopes wave o'er thee angel pinions, 
Till thou, with them who loved thee — all — 

Blend round the smile of God in glory's high dominions. 



URN BURIAL. 

Give not the human temple of the mind 
To the dead loathsome dust of ages gone, 
In the cold, silent, glimmering vault consign'd 
To the dark sceptre oi' Death's ebon throne ; 
Give not the quench'd and shattered shrine, whereon 
Thought burned its incense, feeling breathed its prayer, 
O'er which Hope, Faith, and Intellect have flown. 
To the bleak, haunted darkness of despair — 
Oblivion's utter gloom, where Love cannot repair. 

Time rends the ties which frail Earth briefly gives. 
And ihe soul's visions vanish like the wind, 
But love immortal in its glory lives. 
And in elysium links blest mind with mind ; 



'<}30 LAYS A N n L E G K N n S<. 

E'en now, wing'd angels, watching o'er their kind, 
In parted beings old affection burns. 
As. hovering o'er the haunts of thought enshrined, 
To the heart's home, that, once lost, ne'er returns, 
They wander gladly back and breathe upon their urns. 

The seraph visitants, who dwelt in forms, 
Redeemed by tears and hallowed by the grave. 
Float o'er our thoughts in starlight and in storms. 
And vainly languish for the love they gave ; 
While each loved bosom, to cold dust a slave. 
Decays in darkness, and no eye looks down 
Upon Earth's buried mysteries to save 
The spirit's ark from sacrilege unknown, 
Or bring affection back with the altar and the crown. 

But there, pale tremblers o'er the prison tomb. 
Where Death from each heart-thrilling feature springs, 
The plumes of spirits quiver in the gloom. 
And vain sighs murmur in their restless wings. 
Uttering their deathless, doomed imaginuigs; 
While liie is stirring in the ardent veins 
Of cheered survivors, and each daybreak brings 
Fair gleams of hope and fresh Arcadian strains. 
To gild the weeds of woe, — to hush Death's clanking chains. 



LAYS AN1> liEGENBS. ^31 

Nourished in loneliness by beam and dew. 
The azure waters and the emerald shore, 
Light from the mind, like Gods from Ida, flew, 
And breathed the immortal seraph's holiest lore ; 
And, from the world's corruptings, thought would soar^ 
When twilight taught religion, not of creeds, 
Beyond the power of evil, and deplore 
Frailties, o'er which the burning bosom bleeds, 
And guilt, that casts deep night where'er it wildly leads. 

Can this be Love's last refuge ? this, the home 
Of the heart's ardors and elysian charms? 
To Death's cold mansion none of Time will come, 
Where thou sit'st. Earth! thy dead ones in thine arms! 
But shrinking fears and doubts and quick alarms 
Pervade and agonize the soul, that shoots 
Through the still dwelling, where no object warms 
The frozen sea of memory, and the roots 
Of Love decay, and leave sear trunk and blasted fruits. 

But, oh, how beautiful the olden rite ! 
The twilight burial and the spicewood pyre ! 
The asbestos robe, the witnesses of light 
From the blue heavens beholding son or sire 
Bearing the dead with torch, and urn, and lyre ! 



232 LAVS AND LEGENDS. 

Hope, memory, feeling, adoration dwelt 
Within the mind, that purified by fire 
The form, which, late, earth's sin and sorrow felt, 
Yet kept the dust beloved and with it gently dealt. 

Imagination, pathless and alone, 
Went with a soundless tread through being's sky. 
Bounding the infinite, naming the unknown. 
And blending rnortal with what could not die : 
No voice, no vision, no revealing eye 
Restored man's error in his maze of dreams. 
But, solitary in creations high, 
He gave immortal thoughts to woods and streams, 
Bathed death's cheek in young dew and filled death's eye 
with beams. 

Thus, mounting to the fount of life divine. 
The spirit revelled in its visionries. 
Creating in each star a sacred shrine — 
Having its home in the blue evening skies ! 
Man's hallowed love of beauty never dies, 
B ut, born with being, gleams along the track 
Of life, and, shadowing human destinies, 
Revokes the cvclights of glad childhood back, 
And throws the rainbow's hues along the dark cloud's rack. 



LAVS Ai\J> J, liUENDS. 



238 



These lofty thoughts around the dead became 
Soarings of tenderness, of Love that brought 
Electric union of the deeds and name, 
The flesh and the far being of the thought ; 
High Intellect hath even shrunk from nought, 
With loathing chill, and fashioned, at desire, 
Worlds, where the fever, famine, ice, and drought, 
Can slay no more — where friendship and the lyre 
May hail, from ashes urned, the souls their songs inspire. 

But who will weep when / shall be no more '. 
Who to my manes offer life's regret! 
The barque departs from being's desert shore — 
The storm-veiled sun of saddened mind hath set ! 
Few are the hearts my wayward fate hath met 
Which mine could fold as heaven unto my soul, 
And these Earth shrouds or treachery's poison net; 
And thus, alone, to Death's world-darkened goal, 
Friendless, I haste and leave the orphans to their dole. 

Uread not thy doom as mindless vassals fear 
The tyrant's lash and torture, but, through all 
The hours allotted to thy action here, 
Thy deeds, as incense, rise above man's fall ! 
80 wisdom redes : but man is feeling's thrall. 
80 



234 LAYS A ^ !> L Ji G i: M> S. 

Shudders to part from gifts and blessings shrined 
In his unfathomed soul, and, most, to call 
In vain, along the boundless realms of mind, 
For them who were his bliss mid thankless humankind. 

In the grey dawn of Time, when high decrees 
Were uttered by each bosom's pulse of pride, 
When waters and dim woods had deities, 
Oreads in the air and tritons on the tide. 
And Nature's spirits o'er the heart did glide 
Like most familiar friends — each thought and deed 
Lifted exulting man, and purified 
The stain and taint of crime, till all his creed 
Was love to being's God and charity in need. 

With what a passion, through all human things, 
Frail hearts have panted in their pain to know 
Thc mysteries that fold their midnight wings 
Around the daring spirit ! but earth's woe. 
Like the lone upas fountain's poison flow. 
Utters alone the oracles that thrill 
The soul, and, like the moaning ocean's glow. 
Quiver along the waves of good and ill. 
That ru?b toward^ the gulph where nil is cold and still. 



LAYS A N » L E G E N 1) >;. ^.'^5 

Inspired by grief, and guided by lone !ov<\ 
The seers and sages of a better time 
Gave beauty to the dead in every grove, 
And household sanctity in every clintie, 
And fellowship and, faith and hope subhme. 
The deeds of years vv^ere, as Love's offering given, 
To the dread manes of their sires, and crime 
P'led from the Dead's Tribunal, wildly driven, — 
Daring not souls on earth whose home and throne were 
heaven. 

Thus intellect and feeling gave to form 

Undying action ; to the eye and brow 

The shadows of divinity ; thus warm 

From the deep fount came thoughts that lift us now 

From earth, and wreathe our hopes with heaven's own 

bow ! 
Thus could our living meditations dwell 
On doom, left fearless by the light and flow 
Of life and hearthlight commune. Death's farewell 
Might on the closing ear like songs of seraphs swell ! 



>♦.'{(> I, A V S A N D I, E G K N D S. 



THE SACHEM'S CHANT. 

The Mohican-hittuck* rolls grandly by, 

Mid the bloom of the earth and the beam of the sky. 

And its waters are blue and bright and blest 

As the realms of the Red Man's god of rest. 

And the gentle music, they leave along, 

Is an echoed strain of the spirit's song. 

The Mohican-hittuck glides softly on, 

J..ike holy thoughts o'er the glorious gone, 

And the sigh of the stream, through forests dim. 

Blends with the wind in their twilight hymn, — 

While the shadows are folding round rock and height. 

And the dead are abroad on the wings of night. 

The Mohican-hittuck sweeps darkly past. 
Like the storm of death o'er the Red Man cast ; 
And the gathering tempest o'er earth and sky 
Reveals our doom to the prophet's eye — 
The exile's lot— the slave's despair — 
The darkened sunbeam and poisoned air ! 

+ The aboriginal nanio of tlie Hudson River. 



LAYS A N 1> i; K G E N U 8. 

The Mohican-hittuck's shore replied,^ 

When its suns roamed free in their warrior pride. 

To the harvest song, to the seedtime mirth, 

And the bridal bliss on the blooming earth : — 

We breathe not a beam of sun or star, 

For dark is the brow of Yohewah ! 

Where Mohican-hittuck mid isles careers, 
And meets with a smile the salt Lake's tears. 
The White Man's barque, like a windgod, hung. 
And the powwahs to welcome it danced and sung ;- 
For the lands we gave to the stranger we reapt 
Plague, poison and madness — and warriors wept ! 

The Mohican-hittuck — our own proud river — 

The glorious gift of the Spirit giver, 

Bears on its bosom the booty won 

From the slaughtered chieftain's banished son, 

And the paleface Sage, ere he meets his God, 

Would mark with our blood the path he trod. 

The Mohican-hittuck 's hills have heard 
The Indian's thoughts as his spirit stirred, 
And, even now, thy waves grow dim, 
River ! as awful memories swim. 



2'.il 



238 LAYS AND LEGENDS. 

Like the Wieldcr's bolts, on an autumn even. 
O'er the billowy clouds of a wrathful heaven. 

The Mohican-hittuck's secret dells 

Feel the Indian's breath as it pants and swells. 

And every wood on its banks returns 

The shriek of the heart as it slowly burns ! 

The ghosts of my fathers like giants appear, 

And the shades of the weak ones in sorrow and fear. 

Oh, Mohican-hittuck — the wave of my birth ! 

The loveliest stream that laves the green earth ! 

Eloha calls me and Rowah replies — 

I leave thee, blue stream ! for the wild mountain skies. 

Yet fast as thy waves to the ocean advance, 

Will thy bloom and thy gleam o'er my lone spirit glance. 

Oh, Mohican-hittuck ! no more by thy stream 
Shall the forms of the slain like icy lights gleam ; 
No longer the voice from the bosom of glory 
Gather grandeur and wisdom to learn their proud story. 
Twice vanish the Nations from realms of the west, 
And Vengeance shall start from the home of our rest ! 



LAYS AND LEGENDS. 239 



WALTER COLEBROOKE.— ATale. 

High minded he was ever, and improvident, 
But pitiful and generous to a fault — 
Pleasure he loved, but honor was his idol, 

LiLLO. 

During his better, and my childish days, when the 
voice of pure affection sounded in my soul like the music 
of paradise, none of those related to me by blood or mar- 
riage, inspired such love and admiration as Walter Cole- 
brooke. His father, a genuine specimen of New England 
character, was a lineal descendant of the Pilgrims, who 
dared the danger of the ocean and suffered the priva- 
tions of the wilderness to escape the ordeal of bigotry 
and the star-chamber judgments of political exaction, yet 
sullied the triumph of faith by their own relentless in- 
tolerance. Bred in the severe discipline of the Plymouth 
exiles, and devoted by the inculcated habits of many 
years to restriction and self-denial, he found himself the 
possessor of large domains and liberal influence, when 
Walter, his eldest son, shot up to manhood. But the ha- 
bitual practice of economy had closed the avenues of his 
heart to open-handed benevolence, And his perpetual re- 
ply to applicants for charitable relief had long been with 
him a motto and an axiom : " none need to beg who are 
able to work, and the parish can support those who are 
not." Yet, with little aid from education, his mind was 
strong, clear-sighted and active : and where his prejudices 
did not counteract its better purposes, ample in its attach- 
ments and operations. They, who gain wealth by per- 
sonal toil, are slow to extend their sympathies ; what 



:240 LAYS AND LEGENDS. 

they have done, it is too often taught, others may as easily 
do. Proud of the power their industry has created, they 
pause not to weigh the circumstances which have con- 
tributed to their success ; and hence the harsh and sud- 
den decisions so frequently pronounced against the un- 
fortunate. His nature was originally gifted with enlarged 
and deep affections ; the happiness of his family was al- 
ways paramount even to his predominant passion of in- 
crease, and any exhibition of defective mental powers in 
his children excited in his mind the most vivid concern. 
Yet his vehement, and sometimes unreasoning tempera- 
ment unfolded a universe of caprice, and his common 
self-control gave way before any real or imaginary at- 
tempt to govern or cajole him, like gossamer before the 
hurricane. In affairs of business, he scorned to be accu- 
sed of what the world calls a good bargain ; and, while 
he never disgraced liimself by seizing an advantage over 
the necessities or inexperience of others, his profoundest 
malediction followed any falsehood inflicted upon himself. 
Quick in thought and feeling, prompt and effective in ac- 
tion ; anxious to accumulate, yet detesting dishonour in 
all his enterprises ; easily irritated to the very wildness 
of indignation, yet placable to the slightest apology ; af- 
fable to his inferiors, but never familiar with his equals ; 
passionately devoted to the cause, religious or political, 
which he had once espoused, and incautiously disdainful 
of all opposed opinions ; the elder Colebrooke enjoyed in 
the township he inhabited, a preponderating influence and 
authority, which, in defiance of factious antagonists, his 
intellectual energies had secured and held with an unre- 
laxing grasp. Though he never suffered advice, yet his 
counsel was often requested ; and. when homage was 



LAYS A N 1* L iE (1 U ^ W ij. 241 

thus rendered to his pride, his heart readily listened t© 
the suggestions of henevolence . His strong virtues great- 
ly exceeded all his faults ; his firm and consistent inde- 
pendence excluded any ignoble thought ; his knowledge 
of the world became the wisdom of the young and the 
guide of the enterprising ; many failed not to utter his 
name in love, and all conceded to his powers their faith- 
ful admiration. 

The son of such a sire, it is not to be imagined that 
Walter should approach resjwnsible manhood without 
exciting many anticipations in the hearts of marriageable 
maidens and sagacious disposers of dispensable incum- 
brances. Lofty and erect in stature, almost faultless in 
his proportions, of handsome and intelligent features, and, 
for his advantages, not displeasing in his address ; young 
Colebrooke added to his personal attractions, the certain 
prospect of a good establishment in a pleasant, populated 
and prolific country. His rivals beheld his approach with 
envy, and his departure with satisfaction ; none could as- 
sail his character for integrity and Smalltalk, deny his 
fortune or his judgment in ribbons and trinkets, or impair 
his beauty and his knowledge of beauty in others by af- 
fected indifference or condemning approbation. The un- 
married were sensible of his merits, for he adored their 
charms, and the matrons exulted in his wealth, for their 
resources were exhausted. Parties were given to one 
who had society enough without them, and festivals pro- 
vided for him who needed not their gifts. The maimed 
and crippled soldier of the Revolution gazed from the 
poorest window of the poorhouse upon designing pro- 
fusion, a moiety of which would have rendered his last 
days happy. The deceived and despised fair one beheld 



^42 LAVS A N D li E G E .\ 1» S. 

from the deserted hut of her penury, her frail, though not 
fallen sisters, pursuing, under the presence of their mo- 
thers, the same race, which, with her, had so fatally end- 
ed. While his eye wandered without fixing on a hated 
object, Walter was the idol of all ; each might be the 
chosen one, and, therefore, the whole artillery of female 
fascination was called into incessant action. The desired 
and intended consequences, however, were not apparent; 
for, shocked at the indelicacy which could solicit attach- 
ment, and the unequivocal invitation that anticipated a 
preference, Colebrooke retired from his previous gaiety, 
and returned protestations of friendship with chilling ci- 
vility. 

Bat, though offended propriety thus guided him free 
from the female snares around him, the infatuation of love 
soon plunged him into less retrievable disasters. Pos- 
sessed, as he was, of envied attractions, high respectabili- 
ty of family and person, wealth, intelligence and manly 
grace, poor Walter, like many a wiser and greater man, 
deserted the highway of wisdom and happiness, and, by 
an uncalculated reliance on external charms, unaccompa- 
nied by discretion or industry, or individual excellence, 
sealed his miserable fate beyond the redemption of man. 
Not all the philosophers, divines, and system-makers on 
earth can give a rational explanation of the power of 
beauty. That a peculiar regularity of feature, transpa- 
rency of skin and symmetry of form should atone for 
the absence of intellect — that mere animal loveliness 
(imago imaginis) should usurp the appointed place of 
mind, is a phenomenon insolvable by any demonstration 
in earthly mathernatics. That fact in every age has dis- 
countenanced all theory on this inexplicable subject ; that 



LAVS AN D LEO i=; N PS, 243 

the glance of vivacity or intrigue has ever disordered the 
calm eye of wisdom ; and that headlong youth has been, 
and ever will be misled by deceptive appearances, are 
positions sufficiently conlirmed by bitter experience — and 
these truths are all we know. 

In the midst of the still unslumbering agitations pro- 
duced by the prospects and character of Walter — when 
many a wishful eye yet secretly watched his unguarded 
hours, and many a heart fluttered at the thought of even 
remote success, — he, unconscious of the destiny that har- 
ried him on to destruction, beheld with a delighted eye — 
Elizabeth Forrester. 

The only daughter of a country clergyman, who united 
to latitudinarian belief the indulgencies of a hon vivant, 
and the exemptions of a man of the world, she was dis- 
ciplined according to her own propensities ; and bred up 
in an overweening idolatry, which magnified the mani- 
festation of a virtue into confirmed and matchless excel- 
lence ; and she passed the rapid growth and energy of 
vice, not only unreprehended, but unobserved. Her edu- 
cation was committed to the guidance of destiny, and her 
morals to the instruction of a mother without mind, and 
a father without piety. 1 never saw a beauty uncon- 
scious of her flattered loveliness, nor an heiress insensible 
to the fascination of gold. Sentimental inventors of cha- 
racter and creators of opinions may picture the indwellers 
of their Utopias as they will, but real life presents no 
faultless monster — no prodigy of perfection ; fiction may 
indulge its dreams, but truth must dwell with reality. 
The rouge-and-pearl face of Elizabeth, in her own eyes, 
and those of her deluded parents, w^as an authentic pass- 
port to fame and fortune — a living, breathing, irresistible 



'>J44 LAYS A N I» L E G E N D >•. 

Iris of light and glory. She was exhibited, even in her 
childish days, and lauded by luxurious deacons, soft-eyed 
elders and spotless ministers of truth — and after-dinner 
spirituous tribulation — till repeated praises palled upon 
her inordinate appetite, and the English vocabulary sup- 
plied no new appellations of sickening endearment to 
soothe her fretted humor or pacify her rage at petty dis- 
appointment. She was forbidden to exercise for health, 
lest a change of temperature should diminish her graces, 
though she seldom recovered her lacerated laces from the 
boughs of trees or the depth of ditches, where she had 
rivalled the rudeness of vagal)ond urchins, and exceeded 
even the perverse pauper-boy in his capacity of mischief. 
All necessary knowledge of household duties was inter- 
dicted, by the fear that her delicacy of complexion might 
be affected by the heat and exhalations of the kitchen. 
Any requisite system of study implied constraint and 
some positive exertion of the intellectual faculties ; and 
the roses of her full fair cheek might fade over the de- 
tested volume, and her large black slumbering eyes grow 
dim over dusty and useless lore. Nature was her coun- 
sellor, guide, friend and instructor; all that issued from 
that holy fountain, must be pure — every gleam of that 
sun must be brightness. The spontaneous vegetation of 
the natural world was ever luxuriant, and even weeds il- 
lustrated the richness of the soil ; so, her thoughts were 
left to her own cultivation, and her passions permitted to 
tyrannize over her without opposition. Thus she grew 
up with a consummate knowledge of her own desires, a 
thorough conviction of her own irresistible beauty and its 
contemplated consequences, and a finished recklessness 
of her own honor while her ambition was gratitied ; and 



LAYS AND LEUKNDS. 245 

that of her family, so that her frailty was undiscovered. 
The tyrant and slave of her own will, the rules of her 
actions were expediency and probable success, their mo- 
tives, the temporary pleasure which springs from the in- 
fringement of propriety and morals, and their eftects, her 
own degradation and despair and the ruin of all allied to 
her fate. 

That disregard of all opinions, upon which she acted, 
was readily mistaken by Colebrooke, during his first in- 
terview, for a generous frankness of disposition; her 
freedom of manner and expression resulted, he did not 
doubt, from abhorrence of hypocrisy : and the visible re- 
luctance she displayed to engage on any topic of rational 
conversation, might justly flow from modest distrust and 
dread of exhibition; so easily are our vices believed to 
be our virtues, our unregulated passions, the best princi- 
ples of the heart, our ignorance, the retiring bashfulness 
of enlarged information, and the utter want of most of 
the good qualities of human beings, the certain means of 
bending the knowledge and virtues of another to our own 
purposes. 

The fiery arrows of love penetrated the heart of poor 
Walter, and through the secret mansions of tliat myste- 
rious world scattered tiieir rapid splendor. With a vi- 
vid, streaming, aurora light, they flew from thought to 
thought, quivered and shot along the electric chain of the 
highest and most engrossing passion of the spirit. Deep- 
felt affection, acting upon an undisguised and impetuous 
temperament, on the one side, and an indelicate scheming 
ambition of affluent wedlock on the other, interposed few 
impediments to a sudden and irrevocable declaration. 
Betrothed and blessed by the reverend father of Elizabeth, 



'•iHt Ji A Y S A N 1> L K O !■; N I> h. 

whose insidious and unslumhcring ambition would be at> 
corn|)bsh(;d by th(; union of Colcbrooke's wealth with his 
niinisUTKil j)()vv<;r; the htiarts of both the lovers glowed 
witli joy, though the sources of their emotions were as 
far asunder as the nadir and the zenith. Passionately at- 
tached himself, Walter could not fail to attribute the same 
degree of affection to his companion, while she was less 
delighted at the triumphs of any lijelings of the heart 
than the undelayed accomplishment of her interested de- 
signs. Still, even yet, he might retract his faith and leave 
her to the scorn of educated girls who had nothing bet- 
ter to boast of than aufi»piated virtue and vulgar informa- 
tion in literature and domestic avf»c;iti(>as ; therefore, she 
continued to disguise her various capabilities and in- 
heritances beiii-atb th(! mask o(" mildness, modesty and 
unambitious hap[)iMess. 

The I >vers were wandr'ring, at twilight, along th(^ banks 
of one of thos(^ nameh^ss, gleaming and lonely rivulets 
which diversify, like gems of tlu; wilderness, the pictu- 
resq k; and ins|tiiing sccniery of our land. The mmd of 
Colebr<»(»k(; glowed with deep, earn(\st, hallowed thoughts ; 
and iilled with the sj)irit of young love, Ik; poured forth 
the j)assion of his soul. 

"l^ook, l'.lizal)(!th!" said Ik;, "the clouds are burning in 
adoration around the altar of the sun, and the waters arc 
sending up the uuisi<', ol' ihv.'w eviMiiug liyum. How glo- 
riously this suns(!t light glances upon iht; autumnal woods 
and seems to breathe around their dying hour the hope of 
their rural greenness. How beautifully the reflected ra- 
diance falls u])ou those many colored leaves — as the sun- 
beams of the (Miamored heart illumiuti the thousand ob- 
jects of life! Is it not thus, Elizabeth, that love elevates 



LAYS A N 1) I. 1'. O li N I) .S. 247 

and beautifies every idea and emotion, and raises us above 
the low conflicts and animosities of existence V' 

" Yes!" she replied in affected abstraction, "yes, 1 think 
as you do, Walter." " And see," he continued, "the rose- 
hues are fading now and dusky grey pervades the fjath of 
that late glory ; but, to atone for this sudden dimness, the 
stars are coming forth in the; rl(;pfhs and the crescent 
hangs in the w<:stern hea v ns, like the saint's trust in (iod 
around the fainting and Uying heart." 

" Indeed 'tis very delicate and pretty — but, it is getting 
damp and chill," Colebrooke made no rciply ; bis rnitid 
was too much excit(!d to allow any outward in(;f)iive- 
nience, even had it existed, to aflect his higher thoughts ; 
but, attributing Elizabeth's want of participation in his 
feelings to what is called, enigmatically, indisposition, he 
turned and retraced his way to the parsonage, still unsus- 
piciously discoursing on the lovelin^^'-^ of the scenery, the 
majesty of nature and the sublime conceptions which the 
works of Providence inspire. I'jlizabeth, meanwIiiN', ex- 
ulting in her adroit deception and management, smiled in 
her secret soul at the pedantic display, the puritanical 
feelings, and romantic sentiments of her doomed lover, re- 
solving that marriagr; should eradicate; all thought, ft^el- 
ing, enterf)rise and cMJoyment, except that which con- 
tributed to her personal pleasure The hour of such a 
doom was not remote. I cannot [)ause to delineate the 
details — the minutia; of an illusion which was destined to 
dissolve, like every human anticipation, in storms and 
tears. I^ove owns no responsibility to reason or the fit- 
ness of things ; excited passion, determined to enjoy its 
object, is as unprepared to listen to remonstrance as is 
the observer to describe its hurried operations, lie who 



248 LAVS A N U L £ G £ N 1> S. 

toils under intense agitation, is unfitted to compare and 
analyze the feelings which have dominion over him : he 
cannot number the deadly throbs of a heart that almost 
suffocates ; he cannot reckon the strokes of the death- 
bell ! It is only when grief, ambition, love or pleasure is 
past that it can be described as it has been felt ; when sa- 
tiety succeeds the drugged and destroying bowl, the ter- 
ror, involved in its power, may be pictured to the mind ; 
when safety follows peril, the mind is free to unfold the 
doubts and agonies of the torture. 

Courtship ended and marriage was consummated. 
The elder Colebrooke was a man of sterling sense and ex- 
tensive reach of thought ; he cherished no idle ambition 
of isolated grandeur, exclusive prerogative and personal 
aristocracy. — He remembered well the wants, the wast- 
ings, the convulsions of the Revolution, and was well 
assured that all constitutions and edicts were vain, if once 
Liberty were invaded by marked and impassable distinc- 
tions. Resolved that, instead of living as worthless pro- 
fligates, as fools or knaves, on the patient accumulations 
of his industry, his sons should deserve prosperity by ac- 
tive occupations ; he desired no more, when Walter asked 
his consent to his nuptials, than an assurance of mutual 
affection and a promise of steady industry. The old gen- 
tleman seemed happy in the contemplation of loveliness 
which would have fascinated his youthful imngination ; 
and, amid his sanguine felicitations, found himself unable 
to reprove the precipitancy of his son's marriage, though 
Walter had not attaim^d his twentieth year, and his suit 
had terminated in two months. Amidst the hilarious fes- 
tivities of that celebration — even the coivmnonplace occur- 
rences of feeding and excitation — salutation of rosy lips 



LAVS A i\ l» li E « li N 1« S. '-i-iH 

that breathed melody and bliss and the sincere but vaia 
prognostications of future joy which were uttered over 
the brimming goblet — no ascetic could indulge morose 
forebodings or even involuntary despondency. The ex- 
hilarated spirits of the assembled youth rose and fell 
like the moonlight sea when the rapid tides are waves of 
light, upon the elder portion of the throng, as they stood 
in groups contemplating the varied amusements, and im- 
parted to the gravity and thoughtfulness of age a glimpse 
of the rapture felt in the Eden hours of being. Each fa- 
ther of the settlement summoned back the well remem- 
bered time when his hope was as bright, his memory as 
beautiful and his ecstacy as thrilling as those of the reck- 
less youth who laughed and danced before him now ; and, 
if he could not participate in pleasures which his stern 
experience had shown to be not only evanescent and un- 
satisfactory in their being, but attended by exhaustion and 
followed by disrelish of all ordinary happiness, he check- 
ed not the overflow of genial natures nor personated the 
prophet of evil to fallible creatures whose fortune must 
abound with trial. The ancients of the humble village 
which is the scene of this true tale, were no believers in 
that bigoted austerity of manner which conceals, for a 
time, the corruptions and corrosions of vice, and imparts, 
beneath the shadows of hypocrisy, a transitory sanctity 
to the persons and names of the profligate. Their meet- 
inghouse creed was stern, unchangeable and merciless ; 
but the intercourse of general society was modified and 
mellowed by purer and loftier humanities than are, com- 
monly, promulgated from the pulpit. They believed that 
rheerful recreation was better than damning intoleranoe ; 
that the God of Mercy was not to be adored amidst the 

m 



250 LAYS A i\ 1> L. E G E i\ J> j:. 

ashes of human sacrifice ; that the smile of Aglaia was ho- 
lier than tlie frown of Jove ; that consistent and habitual 
benevolence was more acceptable than a thousand holo- 
causts. In the far depth of the vale of time, when all 
their departed opinions, perhaps tainted by malevolence, 
and all their bitter thoughts, l rged relentlessly against less 
powerful but more blameless minds, stood, like panoplied 
giants, upon the hills around to warn them of past error, 
they were too sadlv assured that mercy wins more than 
justice compels, that revenge is baifled where forgiveness 
triumphs, and that, as Love is the consolation of death, so 
remorse — the Tantalus of the heart — is the eternal penal- 
ty of the unpitying sectarian. 

In the vigor of his frame and the brightness of his days, 
young Colebrooke entered as master the ample and prolific 
possessions bestowed by his father ; and, for a time, enjoyed 
with his beautiful bride that surpassing happiness which, in 
its transient glimpses, reveals to us imaginations of that 
bright, pure and unending bliss assured to the good in a 
happier world. A hallowed and delicious romance — the 
sacred fervor of an untainted heart, which has know n little 
of the anxieties, degradations, and indignities of the world — 
its vassal arrogance — its consuming obloquy — its wasting 
cares and apathy and despair — insinuated itself into every 
daily and hourly event. To a superficial and uninterested 
observer, there was much to admire in Elizabeth ; nature 
had not been niggard in original capacities of learning and 
excellence ; in the gayest and least generous communities 
she would not have passed without ardent praise. Add to 
this, that Walter loved her with a fidelity and profoundness 
of feeling scarcely within the comprehension of the world, 
and the source of his present rapture will be visible to all 
who have united quickness of thought with beneficence of 
heart, and purity with expansion of intellect. 



LAYS AN I) a. EG KIS J>S. 251 

The venerable and ample dwelling of the elder C^ole- 
brooke stood upon the summit of Koyshill — a commanding 
eminence amidst a land of mountains ; that of his son Walter 
was situated in the centre of a rich meadowland, some miles 
to the south of the little, idle, busy, bustling and unprofitable 
village of Western, where the great mass of idea and sym- 
pathy was generously bestowed upon the concerns of the 
well-guarded individuals, and no one lacked his portion of 
judicious moral scrutiny. Mark's precipitous and rugged 
mountain and the meandering river Chicapee intervened ; 
and, many a time, when 1 have been despatched on messages 
from sire to son, have I climbed the jagged rocks and gazed, 
with thrilling anticipations, over the distant hills and valleys 
which lay between me and the knowledge for which my 
spirit panted, burned and agonized. Many a time have I 
daringly leapt from rock to rock across the rapid and tu- 
multuous channels of my native stream, and thought I would 
confront direr dangers in the world for a less reward than 
nature gave me. With loneliness comes reflection, and, 
with that, knowledge of our powers, but misfortune alone 
can teach us to use them rightly in the achievements of 
ambition. From his new abode Walter could contemplate 
diversilied and enchanting scenery. The sterility of his 
mountain woodlands was pleasantly contrasted by the vivid 
verdure and generous harvests of his cornfields and pas- 
tures ; his house was furnished in a style superior t*; his 
rank ; his larm-yard presented nobk; and iatied flocks — those 
domestic animals which so strongly remind us of home and 
comTort — and the very first season of h s independent cul- 
tivation gladdened his toil by sevenfold fruits. 

The birth of a son seemed to confirm his happiness ; so 
surely does that, which appears the consummation of bliss, 
eventuate in the darkness of desolation. Liberal and aftec- 
tionate to no ordinary degree, he had always attributed 



2;')'^ LAYS A N D li i: G E N i) S. 

Elizabeth's reluctance to discharge household duties to the 
lassitude of an invalid, not the careless indolence of an un- 
principled woman ; and he had provided, at an expense 
scarcely known during that and indeed the present period 
of New England toil, privation and simplicity, domestics, 
not only to relieve her from exertion, but to direct the af- 
fairs of the family. His engrossed and fervent affection 
permitted him not to see that what he considered illness was 
incapacity and disinclination, and that the festival profusion 
andpersonal extravagance in which his wife indulged, were 
little calculated to win the regard of the wise or determine 
the respect of those who looked not to the outward form 
alone. Still less, these inauspicious displays contributed to 
]us worldly prosperity and private peacci Mrs. Colebrooke 
was too refined to desire or permit the presence of her hus- 
band, heated and covered with the dust of the field, in the 
vicinity of her fashionable assemblies ; and he, whose daily 
labor was thus uselessly expended, failed to share in the 
festivities of tlie gay, though he commanded the admiration 
and respect of the wise. Walter knew that he had received 
his share of his father's wealth, and he well knew too, that 
his existing habits of expense would more than exhaust all 
the profits of his unceasing labor ; but he would not suflfer 
his knowledge to dwell upon circumstances which reflected 
the slightest reproach upon his adored Elizabeth. In that 
hour so memorable and sacred to a parent, when his first 
born child was presented to him, and lus thrilled though un- 
prophetic heart glowed with the iiu'fi'ablc conviction that he 
was a father — perhaps, the progenitor of a famed and honor- 
ed race — the youthful ancestwof a gittcd and powerful peo- 
ple, who would shrine his name in the temple of their wor- 
ship andrevere his memory as the palladium of their rights — 
he almost accused himself, amidst his deep happiness, of sc- 
>ious crime in permitting a suspicion of Elizabeth's match- 



LAVS A N D L E G E \ D S. 253 

less excellence to invade his better mind. His generous 
and delighted spirit suggested many apologies and pallia- 
tions for apparent neglect and costly vanity ; " she had been 
bred in extreme indulgence; she had been unrestrained in her 
tastes, dispositions and propensities : She had been among 
the young without a rival, and the aged had called her their 
idol. Time would change her inclinations, allay the uncal- 
culating exuberance of feeling, and, through the imperative 
duties of a mother, lead her to forego the dissipations of 
general society for the infantile fascinations of domestic 
life. Her child would be alike her ambition and her bliss. 
The tender sanctities, w^hich her new relations involved, 
would crown her utmost desire of distinction and consum- 
mate the best hopes which his sanguine nature had indulged." 

Thus reasoned the slave and victim of a vain hope — the 
deceived, the self-deceived sacrifice of infamy and guilt. 
He trusted in treachery, he cast his naked heart upon the 
altar of shame — he offered up his highest and holiest thoughts 
to a devouring crocodile. Passion became his aliment ; he 
feasted on luxurious poison ; he dissolved the priceless pearl 
of his soul, and discovered not, till too late, that it was the 
condensed venom of asps. No devotion to her feelings, no 
abandonment of his desires was too great ; he left his cares 
to hirelings, and took upon himself the office of a servant to 
her humors. He became the very menial of love — the 
bondslave of engrossed and engulfed affection — he resign- 
ed himself, a sacrifice to the hydra of the heart, and the 
serpent luxuriated in his voiceless agonies. 

The proverbial love of a mother is not without its excep- 
tions ; vanity, shame, audacious pride and unhallowed de- 
sire are all, not seldom, predominant over that pure and sub- 
lime passion of the female heart. No faith can be reposed 
in emotions which expire in their birthhour, no happiness 
issue from the polluted fane where sacrilege despoils and 



•<J54 liAYS AND LEGENDS. 

profanity teaches the doctrines of destruction. Born ol 
feeling, Love should be confirmed and perpetuated by prin- 
ciple ; or, like Gama off the Cape of Storms, it floats upon 
an unknown and perilous ocean, swept far from its path by 
the tempest of the burning zone, broken by the wave and 
confronted with death. The child was given to a nurse — 
the housekeeper fulfilled the duties of a mistress, and with 
the bitter sweat of Walter's brow, the afflicted Mrs. Cole- 
brooke purchased her gorgeous habiliments and pampered 
her distempered appetites. Filth and finery went hand in 
hand ; provisions were bought when they should have been 
preserved ; the rewards of patient and unremitting toil 
would not satisfy the deman.ls of inappeaseable extrava- 
gance and hopeless inaction ; and, miserable beyond all lan- 
guage, poor Colebrooke went, sleepless and exhausted, to 
the crushing bondage of his despair. 

His family increased as years of sorrow and growing em- 
barrassment accumulated upon his miserable heart, and his 
utmost enterprise could not, in the leust, retrieve the per- 
plexities and disasters which were gathering around him. — 
Walter had a godlike spirit, and he provided for all who 
composed his household with a liberality and even profusion 
more illustrative of his magnanimous disposition than merit- 
ed b\- his unworthy associate or consistent with his suffering 
income. But the very fiend of riot and recklessness reign- 
ed in his devoted dwelling; waste scattered in the dust the 
spoils of wanton excess; enjoyment fled from luxury in the 
house, and habitual melancholy settled in cimmerian gloom 
upon the discouraged cultivator of beautiful lands which 
soon might pass from his possession. His lares had taken 
up arms against him — his sacred hearthstone no longer 
yielded him a refuge from care or pleasure in retrospect or 
hope in future days. He found no solace in summer eve- 
ning conversations with one who perpetually harassed his 



LAVS ANU LEGENDS. ^55 

wearied mind by some fresh invented scheme of individual 
expense — some fretful complaint or imaginary want. O 
the awful power of woman ! She can clothe the world 
with brightness, beauty and bliss — she can pour the light 
of heaven, the sunbeams of seraphic thought and im- 
maculate virtue over the heart of her husband — or she can 
darken the hopeless earth even to the very blackness of 
desolation and banish to the midnight depths of pain and 
sorrow the noblest miad and most generous feelings that 
ever glowed in man ! She can lift the sordid soul and pu- 
rify its grovelling purposes ; and she can cover with the 
ashes of agony and shame the brightest reputation and most 
sublime intelligence. She can feed daring aml)ition with 
the ambrosia of the gods ; and she can change the conquer- 
ing struggle after distinction into the prometheus pangs of 
undying death. Like the seraph of the sun, she may guide 
to regions of glory and illustrate and beautify scenes of splen- 
dor or softness, of rapture or apprehension, of tempest or re- 
pose ; and like Eblis, in the haunted depths of pandemonium, 
she may mock the anguish her own malignity has inflicted 
and smile at the despair with which she has filled the trust- 
ing bosom she betrayed. Life has no joy like her gentle 
and holy love, nor dissolution a pang like her worthlessness ; 
earth has no purity like her consecrated heart, and hell no 
bitterness like the blighting curse of her abandonment. 

Seasons brought no change — time seemed only to con- 
firm a perpetuity of evil. The absorbed and concentrated 
selflove, which had embittered the unblest life of her hus- 
band, now cast away her children. Devoted to utter neg- 
lect, they gambolled with the swine and wallowed in the 
sandbank and waded through the mire of the marsh with- 
out reproof or remark of hers. While her assemblies of 
talkative consumers and her daily slumbers were undisturb- 
. ed, what availed it that the health of her sons wss wasted 



256 LAVS ANX» IiCGE!Vl>». 

by exposure, their morals suffering from servile and pro- 
fane companionship, and the property of her husband dis- 
appearing with weekly purchased suits which were neither 
changed nor repaired till worn to tatters. They imitated 
the example of her who slept, and nursed, and searched 
the rocky woods, in silks! The little opportune labor, 
thai saves what a few days might ruin, was unthought of 
there ; the servants could wear the soiled and rended gar- 
ments which none but vulgar people would patch and dye 
and mend ! — Colebrooke beheld his wretched children in 
their wild sports, and bade them return to his house ; but 
his seed must be sown — his harvest must be gathered, his 
cattle fed, his flocks recovered and his produce sold. He 
could not be everywhere at once — and none obeyed the 
husband whose counsels and commands his own wife dis- 
regarded. So the ungovcrned boys roasted by the road- 
side in their rags, while Walter fainted in the field; and 
cried aloud for new dresses, when he rested at his door. 
The merchant and dandy-creator of the village seemed to 
have inspired the wife and children with the mania of des- 
truction ; and the miserable father, fearing that others should 
perceive his embarrassments, departed to purchase the 
robes of ruin. These things, however, did not occur with- 
out many remonstrances on his part, and many insidious 
replies on hers. The last attempt to close the floodgates of 
misery, to recover his lost property — was made on a tem- 
pestuous and lonely winter evening. Walter had been oc- 
cupied in a rigid and melancholy examination of his ac- 
counts for more than an hour ; he raised his head, with a 
sigh, looked mournfully at Elizabeth and said : " These pa- 
pers are the prophets of evil, Elizabeth ! My soul sickens, 
my heart trembles to comprehend the extent of my respon- 
sibilities. Years have passed since I contracted credit 
with these men, and I have not dared nor they deemed it 
politic to ask an examination. Now 1 dread to realize the 



LAVS A ^ 1» 1, Ji G E N » S. 3»7 

truth — I shrink from the conviction of my helplessness and 
.their demanded rights — all I possess on earth cannot libe- 
rate me from my accountabilities. Alas, I'lizabeth, 1 did not 
think we should come to this. I was well established and 
had a right to look forward to lengthened years made hon- 
orable by accomplished purposes, independent by prudence 
and blessed by consistent kindliness of feeling ; — what have 
I left ?" " Surely, my dear Walter, you will not forget the 
wife of your bosom, to whom you plighted your enduring 
aifection when she preferred your love to that of many ? 
The ditiiculties, of which you complain, may be remedied — 
Your industry, I am certain, will meet all our expendi- 
tures — your character will demand credit. You would not 
that your wife should shrink from competition with her 
equals — that our children should fear to stand up boldly in 
the presence of the loftiest. — Give not way, dear Walter, 
to this despondency ! all will be well. — The season has not 
been fruitful ; another will redeem you from anxiety ; it 
grows late, my love, — you will not watch in this fatigue." 

" I have been taught to bear and sutler, L^lizabeth, and I 
can watch. This life was once to me a scene of uninvaded 
enjoyment ; I had ampler purses than my necessities or 
luxuries required ; I was respected by the good and solicited 
by the gay ; Time floated by in music, and sinless pleasure 
renewed its daily charms. But that is passed — and, with 
the death of my dreams, comes the wretchedness of living 
doubt. 1 am haunted by apprehension and plunged into the 
very pit of perplexity. With our present expenses there is 
no hope of retaining what we have — much less of acquiring 
more." 

" My dearest Walter !" replied the artful wife, " such 
causeless despondency dishonors your good sense and judg- 
ment ; our means are not soon exhausted ; pleasure co»- 

33 



25» 



LAVS ANDLSGBNSS. 



sists with fortune, and what is better beneath the sun than 
to use the goods the gods provide ? 

" Use should not become abuse," said Colebrooke. " True 
joy follows truth, fidelity, considerate love and uncomplain- 
ing application ; and the blessing of God rests only on those 
who forsake not their own interests while they confide in 
his providence." 

" Your sentiments are just like my father's, Walter, and 
your faith, like his, will have its reward. Birth, death, 
marriage and pulpit oratory were all the same to him ; he 
melted every heart by his prayers — and expended his fee 
in a feast ; he charmed the whole town by his eloquence — 
and scorned to pamper the lazy profligacy of a beggar who 
complained of fire and famine ; he heightened the bliss of 
wedlock by the significant brevity of his ceremony, and al- 
ways took the lady^s pa?-t in divorce. Put your trust in 
Heaven, like him, and all will be well." 

" Nothing will ever be well or even endurable with me 
while this scene of unprofitable extravagance continues. — 
Our mad waste must expire or our past affluence must 
vanish. I feel no disposition to enact the tyrant's part, 
whether he be priest or demagogue, even if such despotism 
and avarice could save my soul. I will not say — for 1 love 
you better than my own spirit of life — that you must re- 
trench both our paid and credited purchases — but I implore 
3'ou, Elizabeth, as you prize our future respectability and 
the happiness of our children, to weigh well the consequen- 
ces of worldly vanity and personal thoughtlessness. This 
system cannot last ; we shall be outcasts and our sons and 
daughters — mendicants 1" 

"Come, my love !" said Elizabeth, throwing her beautiful 
arms around his neck and caressing him with a smile and 
kiss, which could win when it willed : " the wind moans 



i 



LAVS A N U r E (t E M> S, t359 

dismally without, the lamp grows dim and the tire burns 
low ; the dreary storm infects your spirits, love ! Dismiss 
your distresses in repose— nay — nay, never gaze upon those 
hateful bills — taxes imposed on pleasure — let me deposit 
them in your cabinet. Now, love, v/e will forget these trou- 
blesome things, and seek in affection and reliance on Provi- 
dence a solace and charm which nothing can destroy.*' 

Poor Colebrooke resigned himself to his terrible assail- 
ant ; in her fearful embraces he forgot his duty, his respon- 
sibiHties, his pride, honesty and manhood ; all, even yet, 
seemed trivial when contrasted with his exhaustless burn- 
ing passion. At the summons of her syren voice, he for- 
sook his high ambition, his independent principles, his earthly 
and heavenly hopes. He laid down the proud and count- 
less thoughts of a gifted, though undeterninied mind, beneath 
the altar of a voluptuous Calypso; and, amidst the fascina- 
tions of her charms, fell into oblivion of all trouble, terror 
and approaching desolation. The madness of the heart 
had seized upon his brain and irremediable misery sprung 
from the phantom bowers of his delirium. 

On the following day, he harnessed his heavy team, and 
broke through the deep drifts of snow to gather his winter 
fuel ; for, as his money had been devoted to other purposes 
than the full payment of his laborers, but one remained to 
help him in his need. The morning was cold as ingrati- 
tude ; his thick winter overcoat, Elizabeth said, v/as beyond 
repairs ; his gloves were in the same condition ; and every 
vestige of a stocking had disappeared among the unsearch- 
able lumber of the garret. So Walter drew on his coarse 
boots, buttoned his worn coat, and went forth without a 
murmur. His feet and hands were frozen when he return- 

.a, but he had brought wood to kindle a cheerful fire for 
EUzabeth; his constitution was laid open to disease, but 

she could dwell in comfort. His sufferings wen^ the foun- 



-60 LAYS A N » L E G E N I) S. 

tain of her enjoyment, and he wished to forget them. Oh, 
what honor, prosperity and happiness might have accom- 
panied that ill-fated family, and shed a glory and a benizon 
upon the venerable head of Colebrooke, had the wife shared 
a moiety of the magnanimity, generous sacrifice and exalt- 
ed principle of the husband. But he was misled by a me- 
teor in his early days — he was too proud to confess his er- 
ror till repentance was loo late, and he loved with a blind- 
ed and manacled madness which permitted him not to exact 
obedience to his commands, while ruin was coming on him 
like a giant armed. 

There was nothing in that doomed house (it rises before 
me now as it was often seen in the troubled, but still pleasant 
hours of my childhood) to relieve the monotony of suffer- 
ing; no love of literatui-c to soften, if not efface remem- 
brance of sorrow and elevate the mind beyond the agitations 
of present misery ; no indestructible emanations of conge- 
nial and sympathetic hearts to mellow and purify the afflic- 
tions they were condemned to feel ; and, most of all, no re- 
ligion to teach the worn and wasted spirit that its best hopes 
repose in worlds no form of flesh can enter. In his yoiith, 
Walter had respected without professing to practise ])iety ; 
lie had never failed in reverent attention to the church, its 
minister and its ordinances: but had steadfastly refused to 
sanction revivals which were 7int reformations, and partake 
of the eucharist when unprepared to fujlil the many momen- 
tous duties it involves. F'or Elizaljclh, she was the daugh- 
ter of a clergyman, and too thoroughly familiarised with 
the artifices and secret objects of a misdirected and abused 
profession to indulge any creed but that of her own gratifi- 
cation She knew that splendid declamation could consist 
with hollow hypocrisy, that austere manners could mask 
libertine indulgences, that earnest exhortations to repent- 
ance and menaces of the wrr.i'i of God could flow from lips 



LAYS AND L E G E IV 1> S. 



261 



which were polluted by profanity and unbelief; and, know- 
ing this, without appreciating better examples, she little res- 
pected the ordinances or the faith of which her father was 
the officiater and the head, A chill discomfort pervaded 
the dwelling of Walter Colebrooke ; the costly furniture 
was soiled or broken; economy, active employment and 
self-denial had taken their eternal flight ; window panes lay 
shattered on the floor of the parlor, and no one removed 
them or supplied their place ; want invaded those days not 
devoted to festivity, when means of excess were procured 
by usury ; and the mournful winds of heaven sighed over 
the wreck of one who might have mingled with the proud- 
est, and stood up with the best. Desolation had set his seal 
on the dreadful record of conjugal profligacy ; and self- 
desertion soon followed the footsteps of imbecile submission 
to attractive deceit, which might have been arrested on 
its road to death. 

Large debts, which had been suffered to accumulate, at 
first without fear, and subsequently from dread of examina- 
tion, gradually swelled, as years went on, into heavy sums, 
which Colebrooke dared not to hope he should ever be able 
to discharge. Convinced that he was now completely in 
their power, his creditors demanded a mortgage of all his 
lands ; and he walked no more in the pride of independent 
possessions. But, though evil habits were stealing through 
the avenues of sorrow to prey upon his unhappy bosom, yet 
he bore stoutly up against the torrent of misfortune, and 
trusted still to escape outcast wretchedness. His ample 
forests towered grandly as ever; his fields were cultivated 
with the same diligence which had characterised his pre- 
vious industry; his yellow harvests presented their wonted 
offerings ; and all admired the noble spirit which he dis- 
played in the very arena of conflict and hopelessness. 

But the last crash of the warning thunder now echoed 
along the gloomy clouds of the mind — the last flash of the 



262 LAYS AND LEGENDS. 

lightning bolt glanced in the depth of the darkness to display 
the ruin which was soon to be buried in the bosom of mid- 
night. The fatal revenge of a woman, who had been a fre- 
quent habitant in his family during past years, whom Eliz- 
abeth, in the confidence of security and the fearlessness of 
a doomed hour, had lately driven from her house with 
reproach, now revealed to the humbled and agitated Cole- 
brooke the maidenly dishonor of her who had so long slum- 
bered on his bosom. Secrecy had hung over the intrigue, 
the knowledge of which had been obtained by this bribed 
and threatening woman ; and, though the offender knew that 
her guilt was only concealed, not forgotten, yet, rather than 
bear the severe exactions which were demanded from her 
patience and her purse, she chose to encounter the full 
vengeance of her late accomplice and present adversary. 
She trusted in the force of her unchangeable denial of the 
truth of the woman's assertions. She confided without the 
remotest apprehension, in the strength of that deep, confirm- 
ed and habitual love which, she knew, reigned in the breast 
of her husband. But the exasperated informant was armed 
with terrible reproof; she seized and condensed to the 
essence of adder's venom every circumstance, every inci- 
dent, every word which could bear conviction and despair- 
ing assurance to the ardent and abused nature of Colebrooke. 
There was no distrust — there could be no doubt of the 
deed. Her long absence from home, during the year pre- 
ceding her marriage, without any assigned or comprehensi- 
ble cause, her clandestine attachment to a young profligate 
named Dalcho, who had disappeared after frequent solitary 
interviews, and left no trace of his existence behind him 
except in Miss Forrester's disgrace: her visible reluctance to 
hear his name, or even an allusion to her unexplained resi- 
dence for six months at a remote farmhouse, where she had 
neither friend nor acquaintance ; all these circumstances, 
combined with direct assertions of her distracted and im- 



I 



LAYS AND LBRBNDS. 2(iS 

ploring confessions of guilt, fell upon the tiunultuous mind of 
Walter like a livid mass of lightnings. His love had brought 
domestic unhappiness, and woi'ldly ruin, and violated chas- 
tity into his household and his bed. Protestations and 
curses and convulsions followed the disclosure — but he saw 
the awful truth and fell to the dust, a hopeless man ! In life 
there was no more ambition, or joy, or peace, or hope for 
him. His vain dreams of respect and enjoyment fled like 
the morning dew ; the names, once electric, of husband 
and father, fell upon his ear like ice-bolts ; he shrunk 
from all and wandered forth to pray that death would be 
his last best friend. No bitter and blighting execrations 
passed his lips — for they were useless now; no loud la- 
mentations betrayed the agony w^hich scorched and con- 
sumed him — they could not change his doom ; but an un- 
alterable apathy — an utter heedlessness of every living 
thing — a congealment of the lava of his burning passion fell 
upon his wrecked and crucified affections. The nectar of 
his bliss had turned to poison ; the tree of knowledge had 
borne the fruit of death ; no avenue of escape was left 
open — no object to accomplish — no aim to guide him. He 
had his frailty, for he feared the world ; he dreaded even 
while he scorned the scorner : he had garnered up his har- 
vest of delight for the feast of the lightning ; he had scattered 
the seeds of his love upon ground that changed its nutriment 
to ashes ; he watched the cold, malign and withering world 
with an eye that defied while it condemned its worthless- 
ness, its audacity, its magnificence and insane ambition. 
He grasped the brimming goblet of perdition, he consumed 
his noble faculties and his wrongs together, and went forth 
among mankind a monument of living death. Make a man 
unhappy in his home, worry and irritate him by endless re- 
iterations of trivial necessities, desires and caprices, invent 
disasters when none occur to agitate his mind, chain his 



^t>4 LAYS AM) LEGENDS. 

soul to the cradle and cause his most momentous duties ta 
consist in ready submission to the requirements of wife and 
children — involve him in debt and then aggravate his appre- 
hensions by agonizing forebodements — and you banish him 
from hope, destine him to misery and drive him to the revel 
of foi'getfulncss. When one's ov^^n house is his hell, who 
can dwell therein ? When one's own partner is his perse- 
cutor, who can abide her presence ? 

Walter had resolved to die. Earth contained no hope for 
him. In the solitary field he thought upon his unprovided 
children and wept aloud as one not to be comforted ; he 
thought upon their dishonored and faithless mother, and 
his tears fell back in their fountain. Yet his lips breathed 
no accusation and his accents betrayed no harshness. Af- 
ter the first bewildering blow, nothing could excite or in- 
terest him more. On Sabbaths and holydays he observed 
no longer the commendable custom, so general in New- 
England, of dress and decoration ; he laid down upon his 
vile couch in the garret and replied to no one ; he swal- 
lowed the contents of the fatal bowl and silently refused to 
sit longer at his generous board. Elizabeth was now as- 
sured, for the first time in her life, that the power of her 
beauty had departed. Had her husband overwhelmed 
her with wrath and violence — had he denounced her crime 
and hypocrisy by the most terrible maledictions — she 
would have sustained them all without fear of the ultimate 
restoration of her dominion ; maddened and merciless pas- 
sion would have exhausted its energies, and in the pauses 
of the tempest, her voice might yet prevail. But now she 
sank under the certainty that all was lost ; his answers 
were abbreviated to a single word, and he uttered no re- 
mark — he did not seem to see the objects around him nor 
indicate existence except by breath. Reckless of every 
thing, his presence restored order no more in farmyard or 



LAVS A JN 1) li E G E i\ 1* S. XiKf) 

(iwelling; his implements of husbandry lay rusted or bro- 
ken by the roadside or furrow ; his walls decayed and no 
one replaced them ; the torrent rains of autumn poured 
through the rotten roof of his granaries, and his cattle look- 
ed wistfully for their provident master to fill their garners 
as in better days ; his faithless mercenaries idled amidst 
his cornfields, and he passed them by without word or 
look. Misery was in his heart and intoxication in his brain, 
and his fine form bowed beneath the burden of his bosom. 
His broad brow was harrowed by despair ; his beautiful 
eyes contracted and displayed the ravages of the fluid pes- 
tilence ; and his commanding features, once so eminent in 
their beauty and intellect, now bloated by excess and dis- 
colored by the fiery liquid, lost all expression of mind, 
of pleasure, of participation in any thing that occupies and 
agitates the world. Wild mirth sometimes convulsed them, 
but it was the laughter of the sepulchre ; quick flashes of 
wit illumed them, but they were the meteors of destruction. 
His father prayed for his deathhour, and his mother sighed 
over hoarded remembrances of her firstborn, her earliest 
delight, her most beloved and lamented. 

It was midsummer ; the blinding light and intense heat 
of the day had given place to a breezeless, sultry but star- 
light evening. It was the night of the sacrament Sabbath — 
but Walter had not mingled with the worshipping society 
nor listened to any discourse but that of his own misfortune. 
Late in the afternoon his father had visited him, and they 
had gone forth together. The topics and result of their 
melancholy interview could be gathered only from the lone- 
ly reflections of Colebrooke as he wandered in the wood. 

" The arrow has flown and it quivers in my heart !" saial 
he, in a low faltering voice. " Perhaps, I have been weak, 
for the world exults in the triumph of strong and detestable 
passions. Love has been the Lord of my nature — the fouJi- 

34 



266 LAYS A N W LEGENDS. 

tain of my rapture — the very Phlegethon of my agony. — 
Alas! and am I sunk so low? am 1 who would canonize 
the object of my profoundest regard, humbled by her treach- 
ery to the vile condition of a traitor to myself and my good 
name, and an apostate from the religion in which my fathers 
adored their Maker? My poor father! he wept while he 
condemned my anguish and abandonment ; he rose into in- 
dignant remonstrance and bitterness of expression while he 
demanded and I refused to part from her. Why should 
his urgaments and persuasions be in vain? She has never 
fuliilled my dreams of her excellence — she has little con- 
suited y good or the welfare of onr children — and this 
acctirsed revelation of her dishonor brands burning exe- 
cration upon her name. Then why embrace the flame and 
perish when I might flee and be safe? Woe — woe — woe to 
the di':voted heart ! it must cling, like the withered ivy, to 
the crumbling temple of its song and praise ; it must stand, 
like the palm planted a thousand years ago and flourishing 
over extinguished generations, undecayed and unshaken. 
These broad lands, on which 1 have taken so mnch pride 
and pleasure, will pass to the stranger — and, in his tender 
mercy, he might grant me the privilege to be his tenant 
during good behavior! Let madness come ere such an 
offer, and death ere I am tempted to its acceptance. I 
have sinned in kindness ; 1 have fallen because I loved 
unwisely ; but if I must be a hireling and a slave, none 
whom I know shall witness it.'' He turned toward the 
house and Elizabeth met him, in tears, at the door. " The 
mortgage expires to-morrow," said she, " have we no hope 
of its redemption ? Can you not yet retain the estate ? Your 
father loves you, husband." 

"Husband!" said he, wildly — "oh, yes — it is heaven's 
truth ! would it were not !" 

" What do you say ? Will he not help us in our need as 
-a father should ?" 



LAYS AND LEGENDS. 267 

" Yes, upon one condition, Elizabeth — that — that we 
part — for ever." 

" I acquiesce in the harsh decision, if it be for your good, 
Walter. I will disprove scandal and illustrate my love 
for you by resigning every thing that makes life dear and 
honorable. I am ready for the sacrifice." 

" iiut I am not," said Colebrooke, deeply agitated, "though 
I know my refiJisal will be my destruction. We must de- 
part hence on Tuesday, Elizabeth." " Where shall we 
go ?" " Where none shall mock us with their condole- 
ments." " You will not change your name ?" " I have 
changed my nature," said Walter, in a tone of such fervent , 
mournfulness that no heart but that of indurated se'fishness 
could have resisted the force of its remorseful pathos. But 
a womiirr without feeling and principle, like the night wan- 
derer on the battlefield, will search the dying man for gold 
and deny a cup of cold water to his death-thirst. She 
will grasp the rich loose mantle of the wretch who is falling 
down the precipice, and turn away, heedless of the last 
shriek that ascends from the unfathomed gulf below. 

Walter rose early on the following morning, but Eliza- 
beth had anticipated him. His mind was Vv'roughl up to 
the capacity of enduring the anguish he was doomed to un- 
dergo, and he uttered neither inquiry nor remark upon a 
circumstance sufficiently surprising ; for his wife had not 
witnessed a sunrise for ten years. Hours passed slowly on, 
dropping their arrows, each moment, upon his riven heart; 
and breakfast had been long delayed ere he was summoned. 
"Where is Mrs. Colebrooke ?" said he, as he took his 
place, for the last time, at his own table. " She went out 
very early, and has not yet returned," replied the old do- 
mestic. "Strange I but she has probably gone to a neigh- 
bor's to pass the day, and escape the scene of humiliation 
soon to ensue. Well. I would not wish her to witness it — 



268 I, AYS A IS ]) T, K ti E N U S. 

though she might liave told mc and taken the children with 
her. Poor desolate creatures ! ye know not half the insult 
and bondage and misery to which ye will be subject in this 
unpitying world. Did Elizabeth leave no direction? did 
she say nothing as she went out ?" 

" Not a word, sir ; she was dressed in the purple silk 
you bought for her iiie other day ; and I thought she seemed 
anxious to avoid observation, though she turned at the cor- 
ner of the garden and looked back earnestly for a minute : 
then she quickly disappeared in the grove yonder." 

*' She will never come to her home again, if she stays till 
night!'' said Colebrooke, rising from the meal which he 
had scarcely tasted. Gathering his children around him, 
he sat down under a beautiful sycamore ti ee in front of the 
house, and awaited, without apparent emotion, the arrival 
fif bidders on his inheritance. 

Tne creditors, the n. ctioneer and the interested crowd 
collected; and Walter stood in the midst of the multitude, 
gazing steadily upon the crowd of faces around him, with- 
out seeming to recognise even his most familiar acquaint- 
ances. He stood like a pilgrim beholding a pageant in 
which he could have no interest or fellowship ; like a dying 
man in gilded halls re-echoing shouts of revelry. A very 
few commiserated his misfortunes, and forgot not in his 
poverty the noble qualities he had displayed in his pros- 
perity ; but the great throng, instigated by the grasping and 
pitiless spirit of avarice, scorned and trampled on the vic- 
tim to seize the plunder. The elder Colebrooke was there, 
and he approached the hopeless outcast under the influence 
©f an emotion which shook his mighty nature. " This is 
no time nor place my son," said he, " to declare liow much 
I love and mourn over you. You may yet be rescued, and 
these unhappy children of a most erring and accountable 
mother mav not be cast upon the world to be the mockery 



liAYS AND LEeENWS. 269 

of the heartless. The sale is hurried ; let me redeem your 
lands — but say that I may do it and you are again estab- 
lished far above all who insult your misery now. I do not 
see her ; she leaves you to bear the evil — she reapt the 
benefit with an unsparing hand. Speak, Walter, shall I 
stop the sale?" The old gentleman stood trembling; his 
son paused, looked upon his ill-fated boys and sighed ; his 
lip quivered, his brow grew ghastly, his wild thoughts were 
rushing along the desert of his present agony to seek, once 
more, the green isles and sunny fountains of past enjoy- 
ment. His bosom heaved convulsively, and the bitter tears 
of a strong man channelled his burning cheeks, but he did 
not speak. 

" We are losing an opportunity which will never return," 
said Mr. Colebrooke anxiously, as he heard the loud, rapid 
and insolent voice of the auctioneer. " Resolve, my son — 
resolve to save yourself and your children — quick, let me 
hear your voice." 

" Father!" he replied wi'h despairing solemnity, "yiu 
have my last, my deepest thanks for all the kindness, the ge- 
nerosity and forbearance you have bestowed upon me ; but I 
have done. Though ; might recover my estate, I could 
never recover the peace of mind or the health of body 
which 1 once enjoyed. I can neither pray, act nor feel 
anything but the last hopelessness. I have loved Elizabeth 
for many eventful and trying years ; she is the mother of 
my boys — she has been the partner of my pillow — she was 
the charm of my youth — and, though I must believe her 
guilt ere we met, yet she has been, not one dares to deny, 
most faithful since." 

"The maiden, that sins as she feared not to do, will 
prove a faithless wife if by perfidy she can accomplish her 
object better than by fidelity." 



270 LAYS AND LEGENDS. 

" Well, well !" said Walter, in the impatient tone of irrita- 
ble misfortune — "1 do beheve that Elizabeth, with all her 
faults, loves me as much as her nature will peraiit her to 
love any one but herself. We have been rich and now are 
nothing — we have been happy but musi pass on henceforth 
without a suiile of joy. Save our children, father, when I 
am no more! but we will retire to the wilderness and die 
together ! After the miserable months of my better hie, it 
is not much to die ; the convulsive pangs of dissolution would 
be ecstacy to the lingering anguish of persecuted days." 

" Walter ! Walter !" exclaimed the heartstruck father, 
«' why will you heap sorrow on my grey hairs ( why will you 
darken council by words withoi t knowledge ? why will you 
adhere to this fatal resolve ? They are trafficking away the 
field on which we stand — they are balancing the dust on 
which we tread ! why will you pause in your temporal 
salvation ? why will you break the heart that aches for you ?" 

"My dear, venerated, most generous faiher ' 1 implore 
your pra\ ers, your tears, your forgiveness ! Let not unkind 
thoughts dwell on my unhappy memory ! let not grief, hov- 
ering over the promise of my boyhood, concentrate upon the 
dire consummation of my less childish but not wiser years ! 
These poor homeless wanderers shall stay with me till all 
is over: then, father, I shall comniii thcui to your guidance 
with dving h(»pes that they may be better and happier than 
the auth(^r of their being." 

" It shall be as you determine, my wretched child !" 
said Mr. Colebrooke. 

"May Eternal Providence preserve you, my father! 
lament me not when I am gone— this state will not long 
continue. Tell the world, sir, when my name belongs to 
the dead, that 1 loved without wisdom and that I fell through 
the weakness of an affection which could not change its 



liAYS AND LSeENVS. 271 

object. Henceforth, I belong neither to my family nor to 
society — the one I should disgrace and the other 1 will not 
seek. From this hour, father, you will hear of me no 
more till a messenger brings my children under your roof, 
and relates my death. Farewell, father, farewell for ever." 
Walter fell upon his father's neck ; hot tears scalded his 
corroded feature^; his whole frame quivered beneath the 
deadly pulsations of his bosom. Nature coidd not sustain 
the wild whirlwind — the siroc of feeling — the hillnw of the 
mind! They parted as those part who will never meet 
again ; the sun went down the glowing sky of Augsist — the 
sale passed, and Walter v as alone with his improvidi^d boys. 
The old gentleman returned to his home in still and deep 
sorrow ; for Walter, actinr upon the sensitive ^ridr of his 
nature, refused not only to accompany him to the dwelling 
of his childhood until he had prepared another residence 
for the weary limbs of his childi-en, but percmntorily scorn- 
ed the civil offer of his creditors to inhabit the mansion 
which was once his own, while his affairs were undecided. 
Darkness had descended upon the landscape ere he became 
conscious of his children's necessities or his wife's haig ab- 
sence. Starting suddenly as these convictions shot across 
his mind, he looked up, and, perceiving his old female do- 
mestic standing near, as if waiting for his commands, " Pru- 
dence'" said he, "why are yo-j her^? Mv house, lands, 
respect and credit — all have gone — and why should you 
remain to serve one who can never repay your kindness 
or give you more than fruitless thanks for all your labor 
and love ?" 

" Should I be a serpent to wound the heart that warmed 
me : should / leave you alone when all but your poor ser- 
vant have left you ? No ! I have had a home in your 
house — I have been happy in your abundance for ten long 
years ; and I do not forget that you saved me, in my want. 



272 LAYS AND LEGENDS. 

from the poorhouse. No — no ! Mr. Colebrooke, 1 shall 
not leave you nor the boys. Let me go where you go ! 
let me stay with you till my grey hairs are gathered for the 
grave !" 

" Well, my good Prudence ! you shall not be denied, and 
your friendship is pleasant in the midst of my trouble. 
You shall go with us — and we are happy in the tried fidel- 
ity of one true friend. But Elizabeth delays — where shall 
we seek her'? Perhaps the sympathy of our neighbor Make- 
peace has taught her to forget her afflictions and the hu- 
miliations of her family ; let us go and inquire !" The 
crescent moon hung on the verge of the sky when they 
arrived at the appointed farmhouse of an opulent proprie- 
tor. — Walter received an insolent and negative reply to 
his anxious enquiries — "Elizabeth had not been there — 
Makepeace did not know whei-e she was — he was not the 
restorer of people's lost wives — he was not the keeper of a 
bankrupt's family — he had enough of his own to care for" — 
and he shut the door in the face of one whom in other days 
he would not have dared to address. 

Colebrooke turned away in silent, ineffable indignation. 
" This is the man," thought he, in his voiceless mind, for by 
words he wished not to inlect the principles of his inexpe- 
xienced boys, " this is the man who founded his good fortune 
on the thousand dollars I loaned him when 1 was not a beg- 
gar nor my name an interdiction. And now, the unman- 
nered churl replies tome, as if my voice spoke blasphemy 
and my presence inspired infamy ! 1 am too unblest to utter 
malisons, or I would breathe out my soul against this rene- 
gade and miscreant." 

Attended by the faithful Prudence (though the poverty 
of her master was in her person appalling) Walter wander- 
ed from house to house, encouraging sometimes and often 
bearing alternately, in his arms, his homeless babes, to seek 



LAVS AND 1. K G E N I) S. 



273 



for a mother who had sought happier fortunes, and, as she 
imai^uicd. less variable advantages from her first love, the 
seducer of her youth, the destroyer of her wedded affec- 
tions. No one knew where she was — they had not seen 
her during many days — they were exceedingly sorry that 
Mr, Colebrooke should have encountered such a loss — they 
requested and urged him to I'emain in their houses — he 
should be most welcome — the children were worn out — 
perhaps she would be there ere morning; but Colebrooke 
saw through the transparent veil of interest and prejudice 
and chose rather to commit his weeping boys to the pro- 
tection of nature in a naked meadow than accept the con- 
descending chnrity of his commiserating and contemning 
neighbors. When all search wis in vain, the deluded and 
desolate outcast turned upon his steps and bore in his folded 
arms two of his sleeping infants overa lonely and rocky road 
two miles in length, to ihe only inn the place afforded — 
Prudence affectionately toiling beneath the weight of the 
eldest. Laid upon decent beds, the unconscious because 
inexperienced sufferers sunk into dreamless slumbers ; — the 
affectionate nurse soon followed them (for the strongest and 
most self-sacrificing sympathy cannot approach the intense 
feeling of parental love) and Colebrooke again was left alone 
in his voiceless grief 

Messages of evil are soon conveyed to the only person 
who should not hear them. Mankind intuitively rejoice in 
awakening the fiercest or most melancholy feelings of nature ; 
as no one thinks or writes to prove himself happy, so no one 
derives pleasure from the communication of joy at all com- 
parable to the ecstasy resulting from misfortune. Couriers 
will hasten to import the news of disaster, but delay to feast 
when they are charged with joyfiil tidings. The morning 
had scarcely dawned ere a friend desired to see Colebrooke- 
He entered and saluted the unrested and unblest man with 



-"74 LAYS ANI> LKGEKDS. 

an aspect of profound mystery and self-consequence. '• As 
somewhat disagreeable has happened," said he, with perfect 
composure, " I thought it was proper to speak to you on the 
subject, Mr. Colebrooke." 

" You are right," Walter replied, " but the business is 
over and I have had too much sorrow to desire its revival. 
You mean that my estate is sold and that 1 am a beggar — 
and you have come very kindly to tell me so !" 

" No, indeed, Mr. Colebrooke !" said the slow informer, 
" I knew all that before, and was very sorry surely — but I 
bought your favorite meadr)W at a pretty bargain and Squire 
Hayhcld purchased all your pasture ground at less than half 
the original value — and our Rev. Mr. Defylord is the owner 
of all the woodland which" 

" Mr. — Mr. — I forget your name but see your nature. 
Is this kindness ? did this news instigate you to break in 
upon my repose ? Was I not, think you, sufficiently in- 
formed of my own misfortunes but I must still be indebted 
to you?" 

" Nay, nay, Mr. Colebrooke," replied the imperturbable 
visitant, " I thought you w^ould like to know how your fine 
inheritance had been divided ; but since you refuse to hear 
me on that subject, I have another at hand which may be 
more agreeable to you. As I was tending my sheep, early 
yesterday, I saw through the woods Elizabeth — 1 beg par- 
don, sir, I mean Mrs. Colebrooke" 

" What of her ?" said Walter, springing violently from his 
seat, " what of her ?" 

" Why nothing but that she got into a fine coach with the 
absconded apprentice of an apothecary, called Dalcho, and 
went off at a round pace through the forest, smiling on her 
protector as if he had delivered her from destruction." 

" Enou4!;h ! enough !" Colebrooke exclaimed, " you have 
said enough, sir — and you are a true friend, sir — and a good 



LAYS AND i;eoejvi>s. 27.1) 

member of" civilized society, sir — and I owe you for your 
trouble, sir, a great reward !" Walter strode forward in a 
wild passion, seized the officious communicant by the shoul- 
ders, and with a rigid application of his foot, sent him to the 
base of the staircase. The benevolent spy cursed him after 
the most approved formula of sorcery and Manichaeism — 
imprecated every pitiless malediction in life upon his head — 
and, after proclaiming before the vagabond assembly ot the 
tavern that he would institute a ferocious prosecution for 
assault against the pauper Colebrooke, departed from the 
scene of his malignity and vain boasting like a beaten and 
cowering hound. But when the heartless and unmannered 
scandal-bearer had gone and his malign relation had sunk 
into the bosom of the deserted husband, what were the 
thoughts of his desolate and trampled condition ? He had 
deemed it singular that Elizabeth should leave him in his 
perplexity — he had thought it strange that she had taken 
away with her, on the previous morning, all her valuable 
articles of attire ; but the dreadful certainty, now, that she 
had left him — her husband in extremity for a paramour — 
the father of her children for a mindless miscreant it was a 
disgrace to name — came over his excited and tortured spirit 
like the blast of the samiel. Plundered, calumniated and 
abandoned — a broken reed which not even his little babe 
could lean upon — without consolation and without resource 
except in the restoration of a mind bowed down to the dust — 
whither should he depart, or how shun the condolements of 
friends and the insulting pity of enemies disguised ? His 
only hope was in oblivion. " My father was right," he mur- 
mured, " a woman, once sinning, sins for ever ; she passes 
beyond all hope of reprieve — all conception of forgiveness. 
Oh, 'tis bitter — bitter — bitter to resign her — evil as she is — 
to lose eternally her pleasant smile, her winning voice — to 
roam along a lonely traveller in the wilderness of life — a 



21ti 



L V Y S AND LEGENDS. 



solitary pilgrim whom all know and none salutes with kind- 
ness. But 'tis better to bear this than to endure the wrongs 
inflicted by a faithless wife and a deserting mother ; it is 
better to die than to live dishonored." 

His children awoke from their sinless sleep, and in their 
caresses he found a mournful pleassue and an absf>rhing in- 
terest which permitted him not to dwell with concentrated 
sorrow upon the most fearful event of his life. It is easy 
to discourse, like Fundanus, with philosophical precision and 
cogency of remark upon the miseries of others, to assign to 
them their distinctions and limits, to reprehend their Indul- 
gence and utter disgust or indignation over their excess ; 
but it is an arduous conquest to feel and bear in silence — to 
quiver beneath the rack yet reveal no pang — to dwell in 
banishment and solitude and find no want of society. There 
is one crime in woman past all atonement ; but it cannot 
efface, in a feeling heart, remembrances of joy and aflec- 
tion, of endearments once sincere and pnre, of sacrifices 
once offered up on the altar of Love. Though he dv\elt 
upon Elizabeth's guilt and flight with the bitterness of unde- 
served misfortune — though he knew and felt that she had 
been the cause of all his wretchedness, yet he, erelong, dis- 
covered that his thoughts recurred U> her image with delight 
and lamented rather over lost enjoyment than present woe. 

The gorgeous light of day broke in upon his dismal 
thoughts ; and, feeling that the brightness of hfe had de- 
parted from his bosom, he turned to the glorious sun and 
said, " why dost thou mock me with ihy beams ? why make 
visible the gloom which sinks deeper and deeper aroiaid the 
last joy that is left me?" But his children asked for bread 
and he aroused himself to su})ply their necessities. For- 
getting, for once, his customary improvidence, he had pre- 
served a few dollars in secret ; some relics of his youthful 
ornaments vet remained ; and these now gave food to the 



LAVS A N 1> LEGENDS. 



277 



hungry and a place of transient sojourn to the houseless. — 
Collecting and depositing in a passing market waggon, in 
which he had hired seats tor himself and his boys, the miser- 
able remnants of his wardrobe, he departed from the midst 
of a curious and worthless crowd, wIkj could wish him well 
and bid God bless him tho^igh not one would have saved 
hiiii from ruin with the gift of a solitary shilling. Such is the 
sympathy of men ; the sources of respect always lie among 
the yellow dust of the mine, and the waters, that refresh 
the faint wanderer, miist flow from a golden mountain. So 
Walter felt, as he uttered one cold farewell to all, and left 
his birthplace without one lingering look or sigh over the 
changed and darkened scene. 

There is no storm like the exasperated and darkened in- 
tellect ; there is nothing in the long catalogue of human 
miseries so melancholy as the ingenuous mind clouded in 
the brightness of being and convulsed by the whirlwinds of 
passion. Early and dear-bought contempt of the world 
excites pity and sorrow in thoughtful minds ; for it is inti- 
mately associated with habitual gloom and personal unhappi- 
ness. Misfortune may be borne without aflectionate sooth- 
ers ; it may exhaust its stores of grief and allay itself; but 
when it is goaded by malevolence, insulted by mediocrity 
and pursued by unrelenting hate, the dnrkness of a dreadful 
purpose settles upon the brain and casts the lurid glare of 
disastrous prophecy upon every thought, feeling, person and 
deed from time to eternity ! 

While Walter thus, in his desperation, sought his last 
earthly refuge in obscurity, the wife, for whom he had sacri- 
ficed every thing valuable in existence, was journeying 
with joyous rapidity in the company of her lover, towards 
the mansion of her conscious prostitution. She was flying 
with her lover ! Oh, the miserable perversion of epithet — 
the atrocity of morals — the arrogance and profligacy of 



!^7*!> LAYS A NB LEGENDS. 

remorseless and unrighteous judges ! Lover ! shame laughs 
and purity shudders at the word — destruction dwells amidst 
the ruins of his habitation, and death exults over his vows 
and his crimes ! Daicho was an adroit deceiver ; he com- 
prehended perfectly the power of persuasion, the force of 
argument, and the blandishments of love. He could rouse 
indignation at inflicted wrong, soothe with bland duplicities 
the scorpions of remorse, and inspire the reluctant spirit of 
sin with the inveterate malignity of hell. Even now, fail- 
ing, through his vices, in the vocation to which he had been 
indented, he turned his evil thoughts, as an ultimate resort, 
to the ministry ; and, to disguise his accursed propensities 
before the world, he carried a concordance in one pocket 
and a hymn book in the other, and at his ditferent places of 
stoppage on his lascivious route, while i^lizabeth was re- 
posing on the bed of adultery, he was accustomed to visit 
every country conference, and exhibit his accomplishments 
in the character of an " indigent student of divinity from 

the theological school of ." His extemporaneous 

prayers had a peculiar unction — a fascinating charm in 
their free expression before the Deity — of passions and de- 
sires not to be uttered to man; and every penitent young 
lady in each parish he visited, was willing to repent, once 
for all, of past and future sins. " What a charming youth !" 
said Miss Almira Lily vale — '-how I felt under his sweet 
and refreshing discourse ! Ch, how happy we should be 
under the ministry of such a gilted young man of God ! he 
would be the light of holy love to every village and many 
a convert would call him blest !" 

" Yes !" replied Miss Dolly Freclove, " I am sure 1 ne- 
ver heard a sweeter voice, nor saw a prettier form in my 
life. — Did you observe how he gazed at us when he held 
forth on the eternal importance of night conferences and 
secret communion ? Mv heart burned within me while he 



LAYS AND LEGENDS. 'Z19 

pictured the rapture which springs from concerts and in- 
teresting conversations by the way. How liappy his sis- 
ter must be in such a friend and companion ? His piety 
must render even her ilhiess blest. Shall we visit her, Al- 
mira, at the inn ?" 

" It is nearly twelve now," said Miss Lily vale, "and Mr. 
Dalcho leaves us to-morrow early, for a southern station. — 

That sacred nursery of gospel teachers at never 

sent forth a more beautiful apostle — would he could leave 
some fruits of his great powers behind him ! But we will 
hope that Providence may cause him again to visit this part 
of his vineyard, and infuse into us his spirit." 

" Let it be our earnest prayer !" exclaimed the exempla- 
ry Miss Freelove, "that the landmarks of a cold and vicious 
morality may disappear before him ; that fervent and fear^ 
less religion, which is degraded by forms, and destroyed by 
boasted deeds, may triumph in his eloquence, and breathe 
out saving grace in which alone all hope resides ! — The 
dear youth hastens to the field of his labor ; may heaven 
crown his toil with increase !" Thus the seducer with the 
desertrice traversed a portion of our vast country, not less 
remarkable for its industry, morals, and true piety, than, 
from that very reason, for the facility with which it is abus- 
ed. Grave features, elaborate enunciation, and ready utter- 
ance of certain ecclesiastical watchwords — such as utter 
inability to do good, and yet eternal accountability for doing 
ill — the worthlessness of works, and no redemption without 
them — the omnipotence of divine grace, and the impossibili- 
ty of acquiring it — constituted, in too many communities, 
almost all the requisite qualiiications of an expounder of 
holy writ, and a guide to everlasting happiness. The fluent 
use Ox^ terms and epithets disguised ignorance, weakness 
and destitution of principle; and thus the cool, collected 
and politic villain was permitted to pass not only unpur- 



^^^^ J. A V S A iN l> L E G L: i\ I> S. 

sued by the maledictions he merited, but amidst the ap- 
plauses and smiles of the admiriiig public. The public ! 
armed with all ifs vigilance, its edicts, fashions, require- 
ments and ceremonies, it is the prey of" the hypocrite, the 
victim of the prodigal I Law, some one has said, is a web 
to catch insects, but the daring strong animal goes free. 
Custom is the tyrant of weak men, (we may continue the 
apothegm) but the slave of the powerful ; and religion is. 
with the truly good, the best solace and support, but with 
the wicked, the vassal of crime and the mask of dishonor. 
Elizabeth, on her flight, had written a long and artful let- 
ter to her father, assigning cogent reasons for her conduct, 
and giving him directions for a reply, which could not reach 
her till remonstrance would be in vain ; but, otherwise, she 
had not dared to mingle with the several societies that 
Dalcho instructed, nor had she sought other happiness than 
that she found in his affections. Whrn their burning lips 
met in a convulsive kiss, she forgot the husband who had 
adored her — the children who had clung to her denying 
heart — the vows she had uttert'd — the faith she bad sacri- 
ficed — the sanctities she had polluted and trampled under 
foot. She met Dalcho with a smile that had no shade of 
sadness, for a thr.roughly bad woman cannot be melancholy ; 
she admired the romantic scenery, for a wicked female can 
talk sentiment ; she complimented her lover upon his elo- 
quence at the conferences, for she reverenced consummate 
deception. Exclusively selfish, she indulged no hope, she 
allowed no thought to enter her mind except it tended to 
her personal gratification; she loved others for her own 
enjoyment, and l<?ft them without hatred or remembrance, 
because hei love of ease would not permit her to cherish 
an inmate so annoying. Every thing was inestimable as 
it contributed to her pleasure ; eveiy thing disgusting as it 
invaded her tranquillity. She had discovered that Cole- 



LAYS ANP LEGENDS. 281 

brookc entertained no hope of rrstoration on the evening 
previous to her flight ; but slie hud written to Dalcho and 
appointed a place of rendezvous before her last conversa- 
tion with her husband. — Had Walter consented to recover 
his estate by forsaking her, she would have been justified, 
she thought, in throwing herself into the embraces of a less 
treacherous lover ; had he regained his former wealth 
through the conditional friendship of some humane securi- 
ty, she would have preferred her station as an independent 
wife and honored mother to the dangerous relation of a ren- 
egade mistress ; but seeing nothing left, and the prospect 
of privation and labor before her, she chose to encounter 
every risk and be subject to reproaches she had not prin- 
ciple enough to fear. 

They embarked at New- York, after Dalcho had pur- 
chased for her the gaieties and amusements of that great 
city, and arrived in a few days at the most aristocratic of 
the southern capitals. Here Dalcho's first business was to 
invent letters of introduction ; his next, to obtain, upon the 
credit of those letters, a sufficient collection of drugs, medi- 
cines, colored waters, and marble soda fountains to con- 
stitute an inviting establishment as an apothecary. A sum 
of money, which the burglar might imagine how he had 
acquired, enabled him to maintain his own and the exorbi- 
tant expenses of his reputed sister Elizabeth without en- 
croaching too much upon the good nature and liberality of 
the southrons ; and the common tact of scoundrelism, join- 
ed to a manner seductive, courteous and compliant, did not 
leave him long without company and profit. He was a 
punctual observer of ceremonies, a devoted respecter of 
rector and vestry, of bishop and landgrave, of clergy and 
opulent laymen ; he recommended a more rigorous system of 
flagellation to the slave holders, and partook the sacrament; 
he denounced the insolent publicity of the courtesan, and 

36 



282 LAVS AND 1. K G E N I) S. 

went home to Mrs. Colebrooke ; he advocated the majesty 
and incorruptibility of masonry, and beheved Morgan was 
a political phantom ; he asserted the unalienable rights of 
the state in opposition to the general government, and be- 
came, erelong, the fashionable distributer of physic, politics 
and pestilence. His respectability increased in proportion 
to his credit at the bank ; his sister Elizabeth became a 
favorite among the exclusive and discerning ; he studied 
surgery, and could amputate an alligator ; he pursued philo- 
sophy, and was able to solve the causes of many things 
better than that of the general infatuation, which in respect 
to himself, pervaded the community ; he was a disciple of 
the parish priest, and, being fitted to distinguish Duns Sco- 
tus from Abelard and Calvinistic impracticability from Ar- 
minian indulgences, he was esteemed a very exemplary and 
advancing ornament of the church. 

Thus established and respected, he became at the same 
time satiated by the remorseless affections of Elizabeth, and 
fearful lest some unlucky rencontre with a pilgrim acquaint- 
ance should overthrow his perfect scheme of fortune. By 
degrees he neglected her, assailed her with accusations of 
petty Oilcnces, and denied her all explanation. Then, as 
he became more certain that his philosophy could not en- 
dure the detection of his assumed piety, he poured upon 
her reproaches and abuse — shamelessly recalled her first 
disgrace, of which he had been the author, and her latter 
desertion of her family, of which he had been at least the 
encouragcr. Elizabeth saw his object, and resolved in her 
hardened heart not to be, in every respect, his victim. — 
During his temporary absence, affecting to be ill, she forced 
his cscritoir and took thence a rouleau of doubloons ; she 
laid unhallowed hands upon his casket of jewels — the am- 
biguous legacy of a Jew whom he had converted — into 
unconsciousness; and, having deposited these necessary 



LAVS A N U L E O E N 1> S, 28Ji 

atonements for disgrace in the midst of her fashionable ha- 
bihments, she very quietly, and with a conscience perfect!) 
at ease, entered a postchaise, which three days before, certain 
of Dalcho's departure, she had ordered to be ready at day- 
light, and left her exemplary hi-otiier to his own reflections. 
Circumvented by his own intended sacrifice, and dread- 
ing to answer the enquiries, which he knew would be in- 
stituted by the magnates of the realm, Dalcho hastily com- 
mitted his shop to the care and direction of a congenial spi- 
rit, whom he therefore took especial precautions to bind by 
heavy legal penalties to the fulfilment of his contract, and, 
under disguise of imperative business, fled on board a ves- 
sel then leaving the harbor for the coast of Africa. Here 
he obtained the lucrative situation of surgeon of a slave 
ship. No human creature was ever better qualified for 
such an office, and he discharged its duties with entire satis- 
faction. To the most awful secrecy was added immediate 
and perpetual compliance with the slave captain's com- 
mands ; his own guilt taught him not to expose another's, 
and his druggist scheme of flattery and submission, not to 
hesitate in the adoption of any principles and measures. 
He was required, farther, to torment the healthy negroes, 
that they might learn to bear pain without complaints ; in 
this his surgical skill was preeminent ; and to despatch those 
sickly wretches whom the sailors disliked to see thrown 
overboard alive. For these services his salary was very 
liberal; and by his sincere devotion to his captain, he 
soon secured the privilege of sitting at his table, and there- 
by gratifying his appetite and thirst with luxuries, while 
hundreds were dying of heat and famine beneath him. His 
lancet and his lips were in constant action — the one in the 
work of death, the other in that of revelry on board a slave 
ship under the blazing sun of the tronif"=j 



284 LAYS AN]) LEGENUS. 

While the daugliter of a proud, scheming, and evil abuser 
of the gospel — the deserting wife of a confident and unwise 
victim was gathering, first the harvest of her infamy, and, 
latterly, the spoils of her disgrace — poor Walter Colebrooke 
had sought shelter amidst the ordeal of his afflictions and 
disasters in an abandoned hovel, among the most solitary 
wilds of Ware. He had lost his pride, his capacities of 
enjoyment, his erect and sublime independence of charac- 
ter — all but the noble principle, which, heretofore, had 
guided all his actions, and even that had been terribly as- 
sailed by the deadening and destructi\e influence of that 
transient soother, but ultimate ruin of many an exalted 
mind, which either from pleasure or sorrow has become ha- 
bituated to its indulgence. Larch and pine thickets sur- 
rounded and overhung his miserable abode, and indicated 
the arid nature of the soil around. Mount Monadnoch 
gazed from his icy pinnacle, day after day, upon the breath- 
ing monument of past happiness, and seemed through its 
vast forest to sigh a requiem over powers and feelings there 
seemed no hope of restoring. A wide and gloomy morass 
almost encompassed the hut, and sent up from its pestilen- 
tial bosom clouds of miasma, which would have borne 
death to any other heart. But the fated must languish — 
the despairing must expect, year after year, the inflic- 
tion of that stroke, which terminates all suflering. The 
opulent, the happy may die in the very zenith of their pow- 
er and splendor, but the poor and joyless often vainly desire 
to be " where the wicked cease from troubling and the 
weary are at rest." Prudence, the faithful domestic, 
who had clung to him through every difficulty and trial of 
his adverse fortunes, occupied herself now in constant at- 
tempts to promote his personal comfort, and the welfare of 
the children. Sh(? persuaded Colebrooke to repair the 



LAVS A N 1> L K G L N J> S. 285 

desolate liut — slie desired a neigliburing iiieelianic to otter 
his services to !ier master — she borrowed the necessary 
household utensils and instrunnents of labor Ironi those who, 
thouffh strano^ers to Walter, had not forc^otten a wise and 
just humanity. The sequestered abode of the outcast 
soon looked,*if not pleasant, yet neat and orderly ; his sons 
were sent daily to a district school, which assisted by its 
humble efforts in the dissemination of that manly knowledge 
so characteristic of the honest and principled Yeomanry of 
New England. When Walter came home from the mer- 
cenary toil, to which his utter poverty doomed him now, 
and Prudence read in his cheerless face the evidences of 
his wasting despair, she met him with kind words of wel- 
come and a smile of encouragement, and guided idm to a 
healthful repast in a cleanly room, where voices of love 
and gratitude saluted his wearied senses and inspired his 
desponding heart. The effect of this sublime though lowly 
devotion to his feelings and interests, was, for a time, the 
entire abandonment of evil habit, perfect consecration of 
all his powers to the good of the loved objects still left to 
him, and a steady prosecution of profitable though arduous 
la])or, whicli soon |)romised to relieve him from his present 
abject penury. 

His boys, so long the sport and prey of reckless and 
licentious example, now departed to the forest school and 
returned to their humble but Happy home with elastic steps 
and cheerful eyes, which their father contemplated in thought- 
ful silence till the beautiful light of his youth, the bliss of his 
sinless years stole over him with an elysian influence. He 
was unknown to all in that wild region — for none of the 
settlers had ever seen him before and beneath the ruins of 
his fortune he had buried his proud name. — " That, at least," 
said he, " shall be no more disgraced ; not one of this low 
throng, with whom I dig for hire, shall ever know that 



28G LAYS AND LEGENDS. 

Walter (,'olebrookc has sunk to his condition." Constant 
action, nourishing food, and the abjuration of that certain 
condemner of man — the fluid flame of hell — soon wrought 
their salutary eflects upon his person, thoughts and feelings. 
Profound melancholy still sometimes infected his spirit, and 
his sleepless bed of moss was often wet with tears of midnight 
agony, which he forgot to dry, and no friend was near to 
wipe away. He could not but dwell upon what had been 
and now was ; he could not always resist the deluge of 
stormy memories nor exorcise the spirits that arose upon 
his vision from the shattered and lone temple of his affections. 
He knew that Elizabeth had sold herself to Dalcho and per- 
dition — that he should never address or acknowledge her 
again — and the exasperated stings of wounded pride, yet 
lookinc; fondlv back to the world he had deserted, often con- 
vulsed his frame with mortal anguish. But with the day- 
light, that summoned him to the field, better and more tran- 
quil reflections went over him like the evening breeze of 
summer over the still waters. His secret, he thought, was 
inviolable, his health was almost restored, young minds 
began to develope their hidden capacities and surround his 
refuge with the incense of love, gratitude and respect ; 
much yet dcjicnded upon him ; and the very consciousness 
that others require our aid in their helplessness not seldom 
saves us from destruction. Untouched by his frugal and 
industrious housekeeper, his daily gains accumulated, month 
aftor month, and inspired him with a growing hope that he 
might, in a few years, forsake his cabin in the wilderness, 
and, once more, in a distant town, among equal society, and 
under the name he had assumed, rise up as the shorn and 
blinded Israelite arose from his dungeon when Dagon de- 
manded his awful worship. No better pupils attracted 
the regard and approbation of the schoolmaster than his ; 
no more obedient children ever blessed a father in his sorrow. 



T, A V S AND LEGENDS. 287 

The boisterous mirth of their past years disappeared with 
the neglect into which extravagance and misery had cast 
them ; they were too young to comprehend the full extent 
of their parent's grief, but, feeling amidst his sorrows that 
his only joy flowed from their moral purity and intellectual 
advancement, they omitted no word or deed that could 
soothe and please him. His smile was their best reward, 
and their improvement his highest pleasure. 

Thus his disasters seemed fruitful of good, and his trials 
but the mistaken sources of virtue, knowledge and happi- 
ness. His eye grew bright, his form towered up in its manly 
pride again, his labor seemed light when he thought upon 
his sons, and every one respected the stranger without at- 
tempting to search out the secret of his residence among 
them. 

Thus, with few events to diversify his life, four years 
passed away. The necessity of unremitted toil allows no 
alternations and changes meriting prolonged description ; 
early slumbers and daylight risings, perpetual fatigue, the 
lusty appetite of health and unbroken rest are the husband- 
man's portion and blessing. Aside from these common 
characteristics, Walter displayed almost uniformly, during 
the latter weeks of the period mentioned, a moral and mental 
renovation, an aurora horealis of the mind, whose light, re- 
flected from his better days, seemed to expand and increase 
in brightness the longer it rested on the ice of his bosom. — 
Philosophy and religion entered the mansion of woe and 
charmed the dreadful inmate into the sleep of at least tran- 
sient oblivion. The smile of nature, (that beautiful image 
of the divinity pervading the world, which evil passion has 
so long desecrated and swept with the besom of despair) 
glided over the heaving depths of his spirit and hushed its 
wild mournings. He grew resigned, temperate, benign to 
all and almost happy. He thought upon his treacherous 



288 1, AYS A N n h E G E N D S. 

wife witliout asperity, lie recalled the unkind words and ac- 
tions which had so incensed and afflicted him after his mis- 
fortunes, and forgave them all in the sincerity of a heart that 
had sometime offended and been forgiven. 

In this serene condition, late in the autumn, he was de- 
sired by a wealthy farmer to convey his dairy to the Boston 
market. Such had been his industry and attachment to the 
interests of his employers that none feared to entrust him 
with goods of even greater value than those for which he 
was about to become responsible. The loaded wagon was 
ready and early on the following day he was to depart. He 
sat long that evening in silence and deep thought ; his fea- 
tures betrayed the unhappy reflections which were hurry- 
ing, like the first clouds of the tempest, over his excited soul. 
At length he said, "come hither, my children !" and he folded 
them severally to his breast with a prolonged and earnest 
strength of affection, kissed them ardently and made them 
.sit down beside him. '* You have been good boys and I 

have done what I could for you since your mo , I mean 

since I was very poor. You will not forget your studies 
while 1 am away — and you — that should be heir to some- 
tliing more than poverty and grief — not of fortune but to 
fortune, must relieve and support your only female friend, 
for she is old and has been very faithful — till I come back. 
God knows it is exceeding hard for me to leave you ; but 
Mr. Greenwood allows me liberally for the journey, and 
though something is now laid up, we need much more. 
Do n't worry poor Prudence by any idle fears about me — 
the way is long but not solitary, and I shall find company on 
the road," 

"But, dear father !" said the eldest, "when will you re- 
turn? it is not so very far to Boston and the highways are 
good. When will you return? 



I, A Y S AND 1/ E (i E N U S. ^89 

" 1 cannot be sure, my son ! Time is necessary to make 
sales, and the load is very large. But think well upon your 
school lessons do n't fail to mind what Prudence says to 
you, and be very careful that no evil befalls you when I can 
see you no more. And now, my dear boys ! kiss mo again 
— tell me how much yon have learned when I come l^ack — 
and — and — God Almighty bless and preserve you ! Good 
night ! good night !" 

With a strong effort he suppressed his tears until his 
children had readied their rude chamber ; then misgiving 
nature gave way and he wept long and bitterly. Prudence 
returned from her domestic cares and anxiously inquired 
the cause of his distress, "Indeed, I know not myself !" 
said he, mournfully, " but strange apprehensions haunt me 
that this journey will be unfortunate. Perhaps my mind 
has been weakened by sorrow, for I have had my portion ; 
perhaps, falsehood and desertion, in one instance, have 
made me overweening and fearful. I have not indulged 
this desponding mood for many a day before, but I cannot 
resist it now." 

" 1 had hoped, my dear sir, that this was over," said his 
only true friend — the self-sacrificing companion of his trou- 
bles — '* and it will sorely grieve me if you go av/ay with o 
heavy heart ; it is not necessary that you should go at all — 
stay, I beseech you, if you have cause to fear any danger 
or trouble." 

"I have no cause, Prudence! I felt very content till I 
started from Mr. Greenwood's to come home, and then, all 
on a sudden, something shot across my mind that 1 should 
never more return from this journey. But, perhaps, I am 
acting very foolishly ; I do not wish to leave my poor boys 
alone in this hard-hearted world, and the thought that some 
evil might happen to them or you or me is, I doubt not, now, 
the only source of the uneasiness I feel. But if anything 

37 



290 LAYS AND L E G E N I) S. 

unlucky should chance to mc, you will find a letter to my 
father in that bureau and a small sum of money to supply 
your wants. I commi t my dear boys to your faithful charge 
and know that you will take them to my father's house, if I 
do not return. Nay, my kind friend, shed no tears over 
fancies ! every one's life is doubtful and in health we should 
prepare for death. If I am alive, three weeks from this 
time, you will see me again ; if not, carry my children to 
their grandfather's house ; and may heaven bless you and 
them !" 

Walter arose, ere dawn, from his miserable unrest, and, 
after partaking slightly of a generous breakfast which 
awaited him, he bade farewell to his old devoted and weep- 
ing friend, and commenced his journey. His hovel was eve- 
rywhere environed, as has been said, by gloomy woods and 
marshes, and he had slowly travelled the ill-made forest 
road for nearly half a mile ere a rising ground permitted 
him to look back upon his tabernacle in the wilderness. He 
paused, his eyes filled with tears and his lips quivered be- 
neath the agony of thoughts they would not utter. An 
awful stillness hung over the dense forest ; the cold melan- 
choly dawn dimly showed, through floating vapor, his hum- 
ble dwelling standing, as he did among men, in utter soH- 
tude. But the blue swelling smoke reminded him that one 
heart still cherished for him and his boys a spotless and 
profound affection which age could not extinguish nor mis- 
fortune lessen. Cheered by that consoling truth, and resolv-. 
Gd, through every peril, to do his perfect duty, he withdrew 
the last glance he was ever to cast upon the home of his 
sorrows, and with a loud urging cry to his horses, that 
echoed ominously through the deep woods, he plunged 
down the eminence and gained the highroad to Boston. 
The beautiful sun of autumn was lighting him on his unat- 
tended expedition, ere the lender sufferers by orphanage, 



LAYS A .N i> J, li U ii NU S. 2^^ 1 

that springs not from the grave, awoke and looked vainly 
around for a father they would see no more. 

The fortune of others will often flourish most in the hands 
of the habitually unfortunate, and he who in his youth has 
toiled in hopelessness and in his manhood shrunk from the 
conflict of implacable animosities, where his own person or 
interest is unconnected, may " win golden opinions from 
all sorts of men." This Walter proved when utter poverty 
had exorcised the malign demon of his fate, and his prudence 
and sagacity contributed to prosperity and opulence not his 
own. Ere the lapse of a se'ennight, he had wisely dis- 
charged his office in Boston and was prepared to return with 
honor to render an account of his stcw^ardship. Conscious 
that none could have fulfilled with better discretion the ex- 
pectations of the farmer, he was returning, late at night, 
along Cornhill, (it bears a loftier appellation now) sadly re- 
flecting on the many sorrows and abasements to which, in 
his brief pilgrimage, he had been singularly exposed ; but 
his thoughts had lost in their humility much of the bitter 
exasperation which his trials had been, previously, calcu- 
lated to inspire. He was now utterly alone, and his hoard- 
ed affections, defying the wrong, the opprobrium, the deser- 
tion and despair of other years, burst from the fountain of 
his heart in a tumultuous flood. He again met Elizabeth 
in the assemblies of youth, and his spirit luxuriated in her 
winning smile ; he led her to the altar of Lovo and felt that 
her presence was paradise ; he clasped his firstborn to his 
bosom, and exclaimed •'! am too blest for earth in the pos- 
session of all that makes the bliss of heaven." Then suc- 
cessive seasons of rewarded industry and calm enjoyment 
and enlarged influence floated over his soul and renewed 
their various scenes to his melancholy contemplation. 
With a fascinated fondness, a delirious devotion, he still 
dwelt upon the memory of his dishonored wile ; and, as ih.i 



292 LAVS A IS- J) L i; Ci li IS^ D s. 

eastern convict, doomed to approach the terrible upas and 
gather up its poison, looks earnestly at eacli trembling step 
for some faint impressions of a returning footprint — some 
vestige of safely accomplished penance ; — so Colebrooke, 
even against his prouder and purer nature yet dared to 
hope that Elizabeth might be rescued from her desperation — 
might even be restored — he did almost think — to her mo- 
therless children m the forest. Mitigated by the balmy 
breath of concentrated affection, even her guilt seemed 
less unpardonable, less meriting direful punishment than at 
its iirst commission, and in the humllcd spirit of poor Wal- 
ter, thus wandering in his loneliness, the thought that she 
might discover his solitary home of banishment, lament the 
error of her scd temptauon, and implore the forgiveness 
which he was, even now, too much disposed to grant, came 
over his grieved mind like the breath of paradise, and re- 
vived the buried feelings of a time when earth was like the 
echoing vestibule of an eternal temple in the skies. 

While thus, amidst his mournful and perilous thoughts, 
ho was building again the sacred altar of the heart, he did 
not remark a tattered and pallid figure which had frequent- 
ly crossed his path and solicited his attention. Absorb- 
ed in his own visions, he depended not upon his senses for 
aid, but moved on mechanically, without lifting his eyes 
from the pavement, upon which they were fixed with un- 
conscious earnestness, until he turned into the ill lighted 
and narrow street which led to his humble inn. Nor would 
he then have discovered distinctly any object in his path 
but for a sound scarcely articulate, which fell suddenly 
upon his ear. Alive to every indication of distress, he 
ejaculated, " who called so sadly ?" for at the moment, he 
did not discover an emaciated female form shrinking into 
the shadow of a gateway. *' One," replied a voice hollow 
Avith fnnino and agony and disgrace, " one who had friends 



LAYS A W I) li i: G E iS T» Si. 293 

once — who has none now ; who vviis loved inJ who dis- 
honored that love; who sought easo and weuih by deser- 
tion and perfidy, and has been rewarded by intamy and 
houseless want." Colebrooke heard these words rapidly 
uttered by a faltering voice with painuil attention, and rc- 
pHed in accents of sorrow: "Too many such as you 
describe haunt the darkened waysidt, and prey upon yet 
uncorrupted humanity ; yet not the less, from my heart I 
pity them. How can I relieve you? 1 have not gold of 
my own — for Providence saw fit in its inscrutable dispen- 
sations, to deprive me of my youth's heritage — but I think 
that in such a cause as this I may use a pittance of another's 
portion." As he spoke in the distinct and manly voice of 
happier feelings and better days, he advanced a few paces 
to a solitary lamp, and, opening his pocketbook, took a 
small note from the roll and went forward to present it to 
the wanderer. But he had scarcely moved three paces ere 
the female sprung from her hiding-place, and with a shriek 
that passed through Colebrookc's heart and brain, dashed 
herself violently upon the street. — Amazed a.id disiressed 
at this unaccountable phrenzy, he hastened to raise her, 
when she started from die earth with the quickness of terror 
and despair, threw open her shredded and squalid cloak, 
and, dashing the long, haltgrey and matted locks from her 
forehead, shrieked out, " Walter — Walter Colebrooke ! do 
you know me ? Do you know the wife who wronged you 
— the mother that left her babes for a paramour — the wretch 
who plunged into vice and Ibund despair — who tied from 
the temple of her God and entered the hoU — the earthly 
hell of never dying remorse ?" 

Who shaJl depict the terrible agony of that moment ? - 
There in the utter wretchedness and abandonment of pover- 
ty and crime, stood the once beautiful and beloved Eliza- 
Ijcth — pale, famished and hopeless — her dark eyes glaring 



29'i LAVS A N i> L E a li :(i> s. 

from their sunken sockets with an expression of mingled 
horror and ferocity, her bloodless lips quivering with un- 
utterable thoughts, and every feature of her once worship- 
ped countenance distorted by that anguish which has neither 
counterpart nor comforter — the one awful pang of self-con- 
demnation. Before her stood Colebrooke — but I cannot 
paint his feelings or his face at such a moment as this. 
Had all the fears and tortures of all time been condensed 
into one single cup of madness ; had the countless floods of 
affliction drowned his soul, and the fires of persecution lapt 
up the very life blood of his heart ; ho could not have ex- 
hibited a more awful statue. Fixed, as if fascinated, upon 
that countenance, every line of which coiled like serpents 
when the poison is pouring through every vein, his eyes 
seemed not to behold her ; strained to the most intense de- 
gree of human suffering, his ears heard nothing but that 
one name, "EUzabeth;" wrought to agony that has no 
voice, his spirit sunk beneath the horror of his fate, and the 
earth and skies whirled around, above and below him, 
amidst a chaos of undistinguishable light and darkness. 

" Dost thou not know me, Colebrooke ? I would not 
again defraud you. Look not on me thus, Walter? oh, let 
me once more utter that blasphemed name ! look not thus 
— curse mc — pour upon me the hottest maledictions of your 
righteous wratii — but let me hear your voice, Walter — oh, 
gaze not thus on my guiltiness ! O God 1 God !" she 
continued, laying her shrivelled and cold hand upon his 
dropped and unresisting arm, " I have murdered his mind 
— 1 have driven him mad by my accursed presence ! Wal- 
ter — O my poor deserted husband ! gaze not so upon the | 
void air — tell me — speak once — are your children alive and ' 
-well — min-i I would say, but dare not — are they all living, 
Walter ?" But Colebrooke's eyes changed not their rivet- 
ted, awful, unconscious glare — not a muscle moved — not a 



LAVS AND L li G K N 1) S. 295 

sound was heard. IIo stood in life witii the rigidity and 
pallor of death, and, but for a deep, irregular and panting 
respiration, none would have thought that he had earthly 
being. " Silent ! distracted by my guilt ! Oh Eternal Judge 
of heaven and earth ! take my life but restore him to him- 
self! let thy just indignation rest on me, but spare him — 
spare him to the world he has not wronged — to the children 
he adores !" 

The vain prayer had not passed her lips ere Walter, 
without stooping from his upright position, fell like a lifeless 
rock upon the pavement. The slight hold and exhausted 
strength of Elizabeth had but little broken the violence of 
his fall, and he lay passive and stunned beneath the implor- 
ing cries and tears of the outcast. At that instant a horri- 
ble thought seemed to seize upon her agonized memory, 
and, exerting all her force, she partially lifted him from the 
earth, chafed his deathlike hands and shrieked,- "O Wal- 
ter ! Colebrooke ! wake — wake — you will be murdered 1 
O God ! I did — in the madness of my despair — of my fa- 
mine — I did agree with two villains to rob in the streets 
to-night, and I should give the signal ! They will be here 
without it — Walter ! wake — wake for the mercy of heaven ! 
He hears me not — he will hear no more ! They will plun- 
der — they will murder him ! Ho ! help ! help ! help !" Un- 
heard by those for whom it was intended, her cry quickly 
fell upon senses sharpened by famine, peril and desperation. 
The secreted associates of Elizabeth hurried up the lonely 
street with the eagerness of jaguars. " Not here — not 
here 1 remorseless villains ! not here !" screamed the evil 
and maddened woman ; — •" come not near him — I have 
given no signal — this is not the man — away — away !" 

" Softly, mistress " rephed the fiercer robber, "this is 
as good as any — we're in for't — and he's quieter now, 
thanks to you, my Lady ! than some would be — come, let's 



29(5 LAYS A IV Ji L E G E N D S. 

see what 's inside here." " P>crone, ye pitiless monsters ! 
I will raise the to\rn — yo shah hang for this — ho ! v/atch ! 
ivateh ! watch !'' The voice of Elizahoth. vised by ex- 
cruciated feelir.gs, went through Ihe street and up tht^ still 
beholdnig skies with t( rriMe disti;ictuesK ; but tiie rr)bbcr 
had seized the purre in Coiebrooke'- t^oss-^ss ion and a «econd 
more would hare seen him in safety with his plunder, but 
for the cor ulsive gragp of Lis late acconipiic^ and present 
foe. " Loos ^ your hold, woman! or my dirl: snail doit. 
Let go, I say : yon have called me villain — \nd you led me 
on to this — you !iave caHod me ^ponsier — and vou planned 

the robbery — you ." "Help ! m';rder ! robb-ory ! help !" 

shrieked the gasping vvoman, st"ll dinging with the tenacity 
or death to the body of the plunderer. The robber strug- 
gled with gii-antic strength to o^;cape ; he bad no thought 
for words ; tl;e whole force ofhis nature was concrntrated 
and he dragged the g' ilty woman some pac^^s ere her ob- 
stinate perseverance and his own demger turned his cor- 
rupted and feaifu.) soul into frry. StroUj^j men w?»'e close 
upon him — the very breath of the foremost could bo dis- 
tinctly heard ; his sinewy hand v/as outstretched to seize 
the criminal. " Quick ! quick !" gasped Elizabeth. The 
bright blade of a dagger glanced in the lamp-light; the 
gory form of the guilty wife rolled on the earth, and the 
assassin fled like the winds of the desert. 

Three of the guardians of the night hasted in pursuit of 
the r.layer ; the remainder stood aro'ind ihe ^kllcn. They 
lifted Elizabeth gently, but the blouJ poured in a toirent 
from the deep vital wound, and, with scarcely a hope that 
any care or science could avail, they stanched the bubbling 
orifice r.r.d despatched one o^ their number for a surgecnin 
the neighborhood. " But who is this ? another stabbed? 
said the watchman, bending over Walter. " He has been 
robbed — this woman gave the alarm," replied his fellow. 



liAYS AND LCGENUS. 3^7 

" though she seems Httle Hkely to use her trumpet voice 
again." " But he is dead," rejoined the other, " or I have no 
skill in pulse or breath." 

" Who speaks of death ?" said Elizabeth, with the slow 
utterance of exhausted nature. " He was — my husband — 
once, and now — I have wronged — and killed him." 

" You did not strike the plundered man ?" asked the 
watchman quickly. 

" Not with my hand — but yet upon his heart,^^ answered 
Elizabeth in the last feeble tones that ever vibrated on those 
pallid and polluted lips. 

The surgeon arrived to look upon the dead — for no life 
was left to restore. The papers found upon Colebrooke's 
person gave his address and that of the merchant with whom 
he had recently dealt, and from a full settlement with whoni 
he was returning to his inn. Little time was spent, there- 
fore, in investigation ; the Jury's verdict satisfied all curi- 
osity by proclaiming that Walter Colebrooke died by the 
bursting of a blood vessel near the heart, and his wife Eliza- 
beth by a wound inflicted by a person or persons unknown. 
In a lone and unvisited corner of a solitary church-yard, 
beyond the confines of Boston, repose the unhappy beings, 
whom nature fitted to reciprocate the joys she offered, but 
whom evil education doomed to a joyless life and unnatural 
death. 

The history of female frailty is always the same. From 
the blush of offended purity to the conscious smile over con- 
versation dubious or profane and high- wrought descriptions 
of scenes in which Love is not onlv the winged god of 
sentiment but the infallible pontiff" and judge of good and 
evil, is the first transition. From the sa-ferance of immo- 
rality in others to the commission of it in one's own person, 
there is little gradation, and thence the path lies broad and 
unimpeded. Guilt and splendor and a hushed conscience — 

38 



298 LAYS A N I> L C U C N I) S. 

neglect, crimination, scorn, loathing, revenge and remorse 
follow with terrible velocity. Then come shamelessness, 
despair, malady, the only poverty that mocks at relief, un- 
solaced death — and unhonored burial. Such was the road 
Elizabeth trod ; such, thousands tread through life! 

Dalcho, returning from his Gold Coast expedition and 
fhidinghis unenviable reputation less flagrant than he dread- 
ed, became suddenly convinced that the cure of souls was a 
more profitable business than the death of bodies, and seri- 
ously convicted of the necessity of imposing upon the 
world's credulity : wherefore, ere the departure of a twelve 
month, he was thoroughly Converted — into the disgraced and 
desecrated priesthood. To prcvcni the necessity of others 
asking the same favor, when denial would be dangerous, an 
opulent lady charitably bestowed her person and fortune 
upon the rescued slave-surgeon. Dalcho lived and flourish- 
ed ; for though he was despised and shunned by the virtu- 
ous, the world cannot distinguish between religion and 
hypocrisy, talent and audacity, virtue and masked vice. No 
one fulminated his holy vengeance with more effect against 
every species of offence than the accursed seducer, and hop- 
ing to become a bishop of the flock, none lifted his eyes at 
the reading desk with greater fervor to the heavens, none 
poured his menaces and implorings forth with more subduing 
unction. The wronged husband, the ruined father, the 
guilty wife and sinless children had been offered up on the 
Moloch shrine of this leprosied and sacrilegious priest ; but, 
on earth the obscure and almost forgotten name of Cole- 
brooke would not again be uttered to his soul, and the re- 
membered ruse, he had played, was held to be an excellent 
jest or venial compliance with the feelings of nature. On 
the very day that Walter and Elizabeth lay cold side by 
side, in the sepulchre, he preached, from a carved pulpit, 
covered with scarlet and gold, to a fashionable congrega- 



LAYS AND i; K G E N U S. 299 

tion from the text, " Crucify, therefore, the flesh with its 
affections and lusts ;" and Uberally dispensed temporal and 
deathless punishment to all who had neither the subtilty to 
conceal vice beneath the robe of audacity, nor power to 
dare the world to the proof of its perpetration. 

Seized ere he reached a refuge, tried, convicted and 
sentenced to the felon's doom — the life-in-death within for- 
ever impassable walls, the less guilty robber groaned in in- 
famous bondage all his days. The assassin escaped from 
earth and agony on the gallows, amidst holy consolations, 
protracted prayers, psalm music, and evangelical hopes of 
forgiveness ! So said the journals of the day : and from other 
examples of that magnificent charity which comforts the 
manacled murderer with revelations of paradise, we can- 
not doubt the record was true, which said that penitence, 
when the deed was done and could not be repeated, and 
sudden sorrow for sins, which could not be again enjoyed, 
were considered a valid foundation for the palace of eternal 
bhss. 

Contrary to the approved and immemorial custom in such 
cases, the administrators of the law did actually restore to 
Mr. Greenwood the money taken from the robber ; and re- 
turning to his ample possessions, he bound himself by an 
oath never again to commit his interests into the hands of 
any man who had feeling enough to die for unmerited dis- 
honor, hopeless penury, and a blighted name. 

Beneath the roof of their grandfather, the orphan children 
of sorrow found a refuge from the tempest ; a home in the 
wilderness of being, where industry, honor and content 
walked calmly beneath the smile of God ; and, often as his 
few white hairs streamed over their saddened faces, while 
he discoursed tearfully of his high-hearted son, long buried 
feelings of early love, hope and ambition — the cloud-painted 
anticipations of a young father — came over the bereaved 



^00 LAYS AiVI> LEGENDS. 

heart of the aged parent, and he would sigh and murmur in 
his dreams, "let not a thought soil the virgin purity of the 
betrothed ; let not a whisper of indiscretion assail the wed- 
ded bosom, for better is the desert without a fountain than 
wedhck with distrust, love without wisdom, and children 
without inheritance !" 



•f 



NOTES 



THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 



Note 1, p. 17. — The hoar Apennines. 
I have represented Mount Vesuvius throughout the poem as a 
portion of the Campanian hills. 

Note 2, p. 18. — Thou needcst not thy tephilim — 
The pn stigcs of Augurs. 
Charms in Hebrew and pagan worship, the tricks of jug- 
glers and imaginary protections against evil spirits and earthly 
calamities. 

Note 3, p. 25. — Cabiri. 

Mysterious demigods of Egypt and Samothrace. 

Note 4, p. 26. — The Ambracian waters were not deeper dyed. 

The battle of Actium, fought upon the Ambracian gulf, for 

ever decided the fate of Roman liberty. The glory of Octavius 

Caesar ros ; from ihe blood of that fearful day, and most fearfully 

did it glow till barbarian retribution made Italy's charms a curse. 

Note 6, p. 27. — Diomede's apparitors. 
I have appropriated to the chief Ruler of Pompeii the name 
of its wealthiest citizen. It has been asserted, by some, that he 
was only a freedman, yet the Emperors seldom hesitated to con- 
fer their judicial or fiscal offices upon any who scrupled not to 
embrace the most oppressive means in the iriesponsible ad;; inis- 
tration of power. His character, therefore, as I have attempted 
to iepict it, would synchronize witii the conclition oi the age and 
the avowed crimes of Pompeii. Apparitors were officers of justice 
or injustice — bailiffs — so called from their suddenly appearing 
when undesired. 

Note 6, p. 33. — Judah''s peerless monarch. 
Solomon. " Vanity of vanities ! all is vanity." 



302 NOTES. 

Note 7, p. 42. — In worship to the dread Labarum. 
The Standard of the Roman Emperors. 

Note 8, p. 49. — The story of his doom. 
Both the time and mode of St. Paul's martyrdom are problemati- 
cal. The opinion is generally received that he died during the per- 
secution of Nero, about ten years before the period of my story ; 
but as chronologists differ and biographers cannot agree, I have 
assumed the right to narrate his death, in the person of Pansa, aa 
in the text. 

Note 9, p. 54. — The Accursed field. 

The Campus Sceleratus, Avhere vestal virgins Avere buried 
alive when they followed the example of Ilhosa Sylvia. The 
Tarpeian Rock was not far removed from such appropriate 
neighborhood. 

Note 10, p. 54. — Ihe anispices in purpJe trahece, walked. 
The prognoslicators of Rome were allowed extraordinary 
honors ; and their trabea3 or robes of oifice nearly resembled 
those of the Emperors. Every superstition exalts its expositors ; 
and the Roman priests well knew the power which fear and igno- 
rance conferred upon them, and abhorred in the same degree that 
they dreaded the illumination of Christianity. The fasces, the 
trabeae, pretextte, and curule chair were introduced by Tarquin 
Priscus from conquered Tuscany. 

Note 11, p. 66. — The Gracchi from the Avcntine dragged forth. 
For attempting by the enactment of the i\grarian Law, to 
restrain the exorbitant power of the patricians, Tiberius Gracchus 
was assassinated in the Capitol by Scipio Nasica ; Cains Grac- 
chus and Fulvius Flaccus were killed hy Opimius, the consul ; 
Saturninus the tribune was murdered by a mob of Conscript 
Fathers ; and Livius Drusus, on the same account, was slain m 
his own house. All in Rome, who could not trace their descent 
from the highwayman Romulus or some one of his least merciful 
banditti, were esteemed no better than vassals. The Romans 
never understood either justice, mercy, or freedom ; their do- 
minion was acquired by tne sword without remorse, and it perish- 
ed by the sword without regret. 

Note 12, p. 59. — The isles shall wait, Jehovah! for thj law. 

I have made the dying ejaculations oi St. Paul to consist 

mostiy of portions of his own powerful writings. Nothing more 

beautiful or splendid can be found in any compositions — more vivid 

with the heart's best emotions and the mind's most lofiy c&ncep- 



^ 



NOTES. 303 

tions — than the remonstrances and arguments of the greal Apos- 
tle, who devoted himself to the propagation of that religion he 
had once assailed, with an energy and enthusiasm and utter 
oblivion of self, which should find more imitators among the cu- 
rates of men's souls. 

Note 13, p. 63. — Shalt quaff the massic or the tears of Christ. 
The wine of Mount Vesuvius is profanely called Lacrymas 
Christi. 

Note 14, p. 65. — The Mamertinc abysses. 
Dungeons even more horrible than those of Venitian and 
Austrian tyranny, dug immediately beneath the elevated seat of 
the Prcctor, in the hail of judgment ; and so called from the 
Roman consul Mamertinus, who planned their construction, and 
who should have been, like Phalaris and the inventor of the 
guillotine, the first to test the merit of his philanthropic in- 
genuity. 

Note 15, p. 70. — For they were stricken from the roll of men 
And banished from humanity. 

Probably among no people, not even the mercenary African3 
themselves, who are always more ready to sell than the Christian 
trafficker is to buy, was the condition of slaves so utterly hopeless 
and irreclaimable as in the republics of Greece and Rome. 
Their vivid jealousy of personal privileges peculiarly fitted them 
to tyrannize overevery people not incorporated within their char- 
tered dominions. Nothing is so cruel as boasting philanthropy ; 
nothing, so unjust as a dominant hierarchy ; nothing, so ca- 
pricious and despotic as an unrestrained democracy. 

Note 16, p. 71. — - - gazed, 

Bewildered on the amphorcs — 

The priests of Pompeii were no believers in a preshadowed 
Mahommedan sobriety or the Genevan doctrine of total absti- 
nence ; but, rather, devout apostles of good fellowship, bonhommie 
and bicnseance, whose credendahave lacked no devotees among the 
administrators of a very different religion. Their amphoras or 
wine casks were always amply supplied by votaries who did not 
doubt that their spiritual guides possessed the same prerogatives 
in Tartarus which less remote exclusives in sanctity assume to ex- 
ercise in Hades. The skeletons of many priests, on the excava- 
tion of Pompeii, were found amidst the relics of their revel. 
Can we suppose that even the ministers of a degraded superstition 
and a most lascivious mythology could trust in the protection of 
Jove or Osiris ? or must we rather conclude that criminal appe- 



304 



A O T E S. 



tite excluded natural fear and that thoy reasoned, like Pompey on 
his last journey — " It is necessary that we should be gluttons and 
revellers, but it is not necessary that we should live." ? 

Note 1 7, p. 75. — - Untrimmcd lamps 

Sculptured tnth shapes of ribaldry to lure. 
The sensualities of Pompeii were not restricted by any defer- 
ence to decorum even in external dissembiinir ; but the passions, 
which burned in their bosoms, were too graphically represented 
upon their customary utensils. The secret deposites of the Mu- 
seum Borbonico at Naples will illustrate this to any who are in- 
credulous of the noisome excess to which sin may be extended. 

Note 18, p. 77. — The Sybarite from Salmacis arose. 

Even in an age proverbial for its effeminacy and vice, the Sy- 
barites were quoted as the acme of examples ; and the waters of 
Sahn-icis, by some mysterious properties, were considered capa- 
ble of restoring the frame, exhausted by profligacy, to its original 
vigor. 

No one who had broken an oath made by the Styx (which not 
even the gods dared to infringe) could be permitted to drink of 
Lethe or oblivion of the evils and sufferings which he had been 
doomed to bear for his crimes. 

Note 19, p. 78. — . - . . Now towered the gonfalon 
Of IsLi. glowing with devices shame 
Shrunk to behold, the shapes o' earth's worst sins. 
The pamylia and phallephoria. The character of the Romans 
under the em[)fcrors renders it unnecessary for me to create any 
relu'tancy on their part to gaze upon objects, in public proces- 
fcions, which in other communities, would have never been ima- 
gined. Greece took her religion from Kgypt — Rome her's from 
Greece — and both had i)i!blic temples dedicated to the Aspasias, 
(iaiateas and (Jampaspes of the age. The pasfophori or priests 
of Isis, therefore, felt themselves much at home in Pompeii. 

Note 20, p. 79. — The war god irifh the Ancilia. 
The sacred shields of Rome — borne in the professions of Mars, 
Avho of all the monstrous idols was the most worshipped because 
the least merciful. Is it not a singular anomaly of the human 
juind that in every creed the god of rcn^^ance has always been 
the most opulent and popular? "By whit casuistry can infinite 
puni^hmonls be reconciled with finite oflence ? or why should 
mm be instructed to fear an endlessness of torment for sins ephe- 
meral as tlieir breath ?" 



NOTES. 



305 



Note 21, p. 80. — Atid we must drag them to the altar. 
Nothing could be more ominous of evil than any resistance or 
even reluctancy on the part of the victims to be sacrificed. That 
the offering might be auspicious it was necessary tliat the animal 
should seem to rejoice in its sacred death. 

Note 22, p. S6.—0beUa. 

A peculiar sort of sacrificial cakes. — 

It was held unholy to offer up any maimed or imperfect crea- 
ture, and herein the Judean ecclesiastical enactments agreed with 
those of the Greeks and Romans. All their animal sacrifices 
were " chosen for beauty and young quickening life.". 

Any blemish inflicted by the Huntress or Pythias, by Sun or 
Moon namely, was deemed a particular offence to the deity. 

Note 23, p. 94. — And each Promethean divination'brmghi. 

See Potter's Antiquities, Von Hammer &c. for the various su- 
perstitious observances of the Greeks and Romans. In the scene 
of the sacrifice I have introduced evil omens — such as the Ro- 
mans feared in their height of power — throughout the ceremonial. 

Note 24, p. 95. — Bore Pompeii's loveliest virgin. 
Human sacrifices were not uncommon during the earlier pe- 
riods of the Greek and Roman history ; and I cast no additional 
discredit upon the ancient ciiaracter of heathenism by represent- 
ing the disappointed consulters of the gods putting in action their 
cannibal ferocities. Iphigenia and Jeptha's daughter illustrate 
Grecian mythology and Jewish vows. 

Note 25, p. 96. — When has the bigot, tchatsoe''er his crown. — 
I appeal to all history, civil, sacred, ecclesiastical and profane. 
Persecution is not exclusive ; give preponderance to any sect or 
faction and it will tyrannize ; the faggot would be lighted, the 
dungeon filled, the deathaxe red. The civil power would collude 
with the church as it has always done, when the latter claimed 
the prerogatives of heaven to exempt it from human accountability 
— because superstitious ignorance fears more the anathemas of a 
priesthood than the agonies and blood of a thousand victims. 
Representations of eternal punishments due to those who indulge 
humanity, by sparing the proscribed, the heretics, namely — have 
influenced mankind far more than the view of nations banished 
and provinces depopulated by the relentless malignity of some 
Torquemarla of paynimrie or Christendom. Factions and sects, 
in politics and religion, never yet won any thing but ruin and 
disgrace, yet they are perpetuated and multiplied as the world 
wears to waste ! 

39 



30(5 



K O T E S. 



NoTij 26, p. 96. — O'er the lava milks. 
The streets of Pompeii were paved with blocks of lava ; and 
the audacious apathy, which tliey manifested amidst the threaten- 
ings of Vesuvius, may be ascribed to their familiarity with earth- 
quakes and volcanoes. The wretched inhabitants of Portici, 
Torre del Greco and other exposed villages are, at this day, as 
unapprehensive of the peril that has overhung them since their 
birth, as were the Pompeiians at their death-hour. Cities buried 
in lava or ashes, may lie beneath even Herculaneum and Pompeii. 

Note 27, p. 97. — The music of the sistmm. 
A stringed instrument peculiar to the mysterious rites of Isis, 
which, like most other mysteries, concealed the most nefarious 
practices. 

Note 28, p. 101. — Holy Diana! hath thine Iris come. 
The rainbow, in every mythology, has been beautifully person- 
ified. Iris, its goddess, was the messenger of the ancient deities; 
and though employed by jealous Juno to create " green eyed mon- 
sters," she was more happily occupied, in general, in separating 
virtuous souls from feeble frames and escorting them to Elysium. 
No one is ignorant of the Scandinavian hifrost, and the romantic 
tales of the Eddas. 

Note 29, p. 104. — Breathes not the soul of mystery in this? 

The whole art of uttering oracles consisted in choosing terms 
capable of any construction. The desires of the consulter de- 
termined the meaning ; and neither Delphi nor Dodona could 
commit its credit by the failure of a prophecy which, it might al- 
lege, was never properly understood. No one can have forgot- 
ten the celebrated response (which illustrates the sophistries and 
follies of the ancients) ^'Aio te, iEacide, Roraanos vincere 
posse." 

The maiden now consents to give an Isean response, pre- 
figuring the ruin impending, from which all who escape, must fly 
by sea, that the absence of the priest may afford her an opportu- 
nity to shun his embraces. 

Note 30, p. 105. — The mocker Momus has his jest. 
Momus, the Jester of the gods, when Jupiter presented the 
man Avhom he had created to his inspection, and asked him how, 
characteristically, he could find fault with such workmanship, re- 
plied with a sneer that the defect was both obvious and incurable 
— tliat one so wise as the king of gods and men should have placed 
a mirror over his heart that all might discern evil purposes in 



NOTES. 



307 



their first conception. The priest, by filling with his person the 
aperture of the image, pleasantly deems himself the mirror that 
reveals and directs the minds of men. 

Note 31, p. 122. — - - The wanton canvass lived 
With Mycon's impure thought. 
All the ancient sculptors and painters, inimitable as they were 
in the execution of their conceptions, faithfully followed, per- 
haps led the blush-disowning taste of the times ; and every ban- 
quet-hall and chamber exhibited indubitable testimonials of their 
uses. — Mycon, Xeuxis and Parrhasius, it is hardly necessary to 
say, were gifted and celebrated artists. 

Note 32, p. 123. — Or I may brand the theta on thy brow. 
The Greek letter (theta) was burned upon the foreheads of 
slaves as an indelible sign of proprietorship ; hence they were 
called literati — a term strictly applicable to some less ancient 
and better conditioned persons than the captive barbarians of bu- 
ried times. 

NoTK 33, p. 123. — The tintinnaculus may shame thy clink! 

The Praetor may, perhaps, be allowed a pun. Tintinnaculus 
may mean a public whipper — an inflicter of the bastinado — and 
a jingling rhymer ; lashes and verses both may be melodious. 

Note 34, p. 127. — Hath the caduce'^s met the eye of day. 
The wand of Mercury was the sign of peace ; the caduceus 
was, therefore, seldom out of the hand of the lord of larceny. 

Note 35, p. 128. — The tyrant raised his hundred banquet halls, 
TritolVs steios and Baiae^s palaces. 
The Cento Camarelle of Nero and Piscina Mirabile (wonder- 
ful fishpond) of Lucullus, even in ruins, are objects of amaze- 
ment to less abominable despots of modern times. Baiae was the 
most voluptuous of all the voluptuous resorts of the Romans, and 
the baths of Tritoli were necessary to restore the patricians after 
Falernian excesses. Here [.ucullus fed his fish on human flesh 
— here Cicero perished — by the permission of hisfriend Octavius. 

Note 36, p. 132. — A darker doom than his, S^c. 
Marius. Sylla died at Puteoli, as Herod afterwards perished, 
of a most loathsome disease and in the midst of debaucheries. 

Note 38, p. 134. — I see a hoary head o'ercrovmed. 
The Pope — whose tiara was the very meteor of ruin. 



308 NOTES. 

Note 39, p. 134. — Though thou with Epaphroditus slialt live, 
Empedocles and Barcochab in fame. 

Epaphrodltus, to irnmoitalize himself, set fire to the temple of 
Ephesiaii l>iana on the niglit Macedonian Alexander was born ; 
Empedocles, to persuade men he was a god, threw himself into 
Mount JEtna, but the volcano cast out his slipper and betrayed 
him; Barcocnab, who called himself the Son of a Star, but whom 
his countrymen named the Son of a Lie, was one of the innumera- 
ble false prophets of that strange people — the Jews. 

Note 40, p. 135. — The Lectisicrnian banquet. 
The funeral festival — the last of earthly indulgencies. 

Note 41, p. 139.— The Attic Sage. 
Socrates. His execution was delayed on the occurrence of a 
sacred festival — the annual voyage to the Immortal Isle, where 
none were permitted to be born or to die. Superstition sported 
with the tortures of injustice and cruelty. 

Note 42, p. 145. — Gazefrom the podium. 
What is now the orchestra — then, the envied place of power 
and privilege. 

Note 43, p. M6. — Mingle the fiats of philosophy. 
However the sages of antiquity condemned the cruel sports of 
their countrymen, they seldom hesitated to witness and thereby 
sanction the atrocities which were perpetrated in every amphithea- 
tre. Like the bullfights of modern Spain, the gladiatorial con- 
tests (the death-struggle of the agonistes and athlete) always at- 
tracted the presence and enjoyment of the most learned, opulent 
and famed of tlie Romans. 

Note 44, p. 147. — Salute the ruthless Genius of the Games. 
3Iorituri te salutant (the dead salute thee) were the melancholy 
words of prophecy uttered by all condemned to fight in the arena. 

Note 45, p. 149. — flutters Domitian and Locasta' s cup. 
Titus is supposed to have been poisoned by his brother Domitian 
— who was himself finally assassinated. Locasta was the female 
fiend of Colchian drugs. 

Note 4G, p. 150. — Andraste. 
The British goddess of retribution. 

Note 47, p. 151. — The Praesul. 
The vicar general of Roman mythology. 



NOTES. 309 

Note 48, p. 153. — Like tie great Pisan. 

Galileo. See Brewster's Life of that great and weak man. 
Note 49, p. 1G3. — And low the lion cowered. 

A scene somewhat like this is depicted in " The Vestal," a 
little work published two or three years ago, and written by Dr. 
Gray of Boston. But while I am happy to acknowledge both the 
pleasure and benefit I have derived from that elegant story, I must 
be allowed to say that the causes of the lion's submission are unlike. 
He cowers at the feet of the aged Christian in that work, because 
lie sees an old master ; here, he is made to submit on the well- 
known principle familiar to naturalists, that during any great con- 
vulsion of nature, the most savage animals forget their common 
animosities, and that the lion will not attack a man who steadily 
fixes his eyes upon him. — Having formed the plan of the whole 
poem and finished a considerable portion of it previous to my 
first perusal of the " Tale of Pompeii," I was unwilling to forego 
the scene I had conceived previous to even the knowledge of the 
publication of Dr. Gray ; and, therefore, have ventured to tread 
upon ground which has been trod by Milman and Croly. 

Note 50, p. 174. — The voice of age. 
That is, of the aged Christian with whom Mariamne had taken 
refuge on her escape from the temple of Venus. 

Note 61, p. 174. — Tergeste. 

Trieste. 
Note 52, p. 179. — The hoar devoter of earth^s diadems. 

The allusion throughout is to the Head of what was, for a long 
time, the Catholic Church ; and even the very strictest disciple of 
papal supremacy must lament the desecration of almost unlimited 
power in the hands of many who better understood the law of 
might, the pageantries of the tournament, the forms of the duello, 
the shock of war and the dominion of the castle, than the edicts 
and ceremonies and devotions of the pontificate. The " Rock 
amid the ruins" alludes to Peter, the reputed founder cf the 
bishopric of Rome — his Greek name means a rock. 






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